


Artificial

by Lacertae



Series: Equilibrium [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Awkwardness, Developing Friendships, Dubious Ethics, Dubious Morality, First Dates, First Meetings, Flirting, Innuendo, Kissing, M/M, Omnic Rights, Romance, Theatre, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 11:38:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17827847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacertae/pseuds/Lacertae
Summary: *Doomfist/Zenyatta* Third part in the 'Equilibrium' saga, sequel to 'Atrophy'.Akande comes forth with his promise to take Zenyatta out on a date.





	1. Chapter 01

**Author's Note:**

> hello i am aware this took forever but dates are harder to write than you'd think... also for those who want to know, this series will keep going for a long, long while. :)
> 
> one chapter a week!

**Chapter 01**

In the earlier hours of the evening, the pub was filled with life and noise.

It was fashioned to look like something out of the early decades of the century, with dusty red bricks melting into tall, wide archways and dark walls covered with framed pictures –most of which were of the owner with various international stars.

During the day, the wide windows allowed a lot of natural light, but now, with day turning to dusk, the lights inside were flicked on, and the pub took on a different appeal, with a new crowd ready to take over for the night shift.

Surrounded by voices mixing with loud clinking bottles and glasses, Jesse McCree moved through the half-empty hall, eyes scouring the tables around him until he located the right one –right at the back and close to the bathroom stalls.

The table was also already occupied.

With sure footsteps and a casual, relaxed gait, Jesse tipped his hat and leaned against the edge of the table, a wide, easy smile on his lips.

When he spoke, his voice had shifted to a low, steady purr. “My, my. What is a lovely lady like you doin’ here?”

The small, almost invisible upwards curl of the woman’s lips vanished as she turned fully to look at him, expression schooled back into one of casual nonchalance as she answered him in the same tone, “definitely not you.”

It took a second for him to register the quip and then Jesse stumbled back, making a grand show of putting a hand on his chest, as if accusing a direct hit, eyes wide. “Where did you even get this vicious side, Lena? You could have been nice and instead you choose to _destroy_ me.”

The serious expression melted in an instant, chased away by a fit of cheeky giggles as Lena Oxton pushed a chair away from the table with her foot. “Couldn’t resist, really. I learn ‘em from the best!” Then, after a moment, “that would be Angela, she gets lots of ugly flirts when she goes out for a drink.”

Jesse’s expression turned stormy at the mention of Angela’s bad luck, lips pulled down in a displeased frown, but he knew Angela could take care of herself without someone shadowing her, and if anything, Fareeha would be there as well.

Putting those thoughts aside, Jesse finally sat down, slouching on the chair and exhaling, finally able to rest after his long day.

Lena smiled brightly at him, stretching her legs under the table, all bright and content, and Jesse felt a little part of himself settle down, soothed just by her presence.

In a world filled with dreadful things, it was good to see someone who seemed to be always in high spirits.

A soft, calm voice startled him out of his moment of peace. “Would you like to order?”

Back as straight as a rod, Jesse jolted up, heart pounding, twisting his head to look behind himself with wide eyes. “Jesus fu– you scared the _hell_ out of me!”

Standing there with both hands casually linked behind his back was Zenyatta, forehead array sparkling in silent laughter; he was wearing the pub’s waiter uniform, red and white complimenting his golden accents. He had arrived without either Lena or Jesse noticing, and it was clear despite his lack of an expression that he was restraining his mirth at catching them both unaware.

“You’re far too good at this, Zen!” Lena said, a huge grin on her lips. Her voice was an octave higher than needed, as Lena was everything but subtle, and when she realised how loud she was, even with the pub’s noise levels, she had the decency to wince. “Uh, sorry ‘bout that. Good to see you!”

Zenyatta inclined his head a little, spreading his senses forth, then just like that his countenance shifted minutely, in ways that any untrained eye might have overlooked –but Jesse was not untrained.

His shoulders flexed and relaxed, and Zenyatta went from a straight, unnatural pose to something a little more slouched, yet truer to his actual nature. Even though his model was taller than most he had a way of carrying himself that made people around him dismiss his presence, and though as a waiter he had to stand straight, Jesse was almost amused to see him lose at least a few inches of height just by relaxing.

Zenyatta linked his fingers together in front of himself, amusement lacing his tone as he greeted his friends. “It is good to see you both as well. It has been quite an eventful day –we had three fights since this morning, and a lady broke up with her fiancé after he attempted to flirt with one of my colleagues.”

The tinge of fascination in his tone had Jesse blink, but he sort of understood the kind of appeal this job could have to the uninitiated. “You call that eventful, I call it ‘bolt before customer service hell catches you’.”

“Did you work in a pub before, Jesse?” Lena asked him, eyes wide and expecting some kind of tale.

“Well… not just a pub. Retail, too, once or twice. Not for long. Still have scars on me.” Jesse’s face was grave, enough that Lena’s smile wavered for a moment before he snorted, waving to dismiss his own words. “Mental scars, my dear. You gotta hate retail. Be glad y’never had to deal with that shit.”

Jesse glanced around the room, a casual roll of his neck as he stretched his arms, then focused on Zenyatta again. “Think you can sit with us, Zen?”

Zenyatta hummed, the sound of his fans a familiar background noise. “My shift will be done in a few minutes.”

With a nod, Jesse rubbed his chin, and he was careful to raise his voice back to an acceptable level. “I think I’ll have a beer, thank you.”

“ _Jesse!_ ” Lena slammed both hands on the table, startling both Jesse and Zenyatta. “Order something _tasty_!”

“Uh… I dunno, beer’s decent enough for me.”

Lena’s expression was incredulous, yet when she turned to look at Zenyatta, lips trembling up into a barely restrained smile, she only asked for tea, ignoring Jesse’s raised eyebrows.

Zenyatta left, only to return not much later with Lena’s tea and Jesse’s beer; he had been wearing the pub’s waiter attire, but now he unclasped the top two buttons, rolling up his sleeves in a way that would have been distracting, if Jesse hadn’t been more focused on the beer placed on the table in front of him.

“We will have to wait at least a couple days to know if our work was successful,” Zenyatta said, voice low. Even now, he was acting more casual than normal, appearing to a careless onlooker as an omnic relaxing with friends after his job. “We have set down the ground work, but the house still needs to be built, so to speak.”

Lena groaned, plunging a tea bag into the water of her cup, tugging it absently as she leaned on her other hand. “Don’t remind me, we’ve been at this for what, a week already? I’m just… bored.”

“You offered yourself for this job, Lena.” Jesse grinned at her. “Me ‘n Zen got tasked, but you _wanted_ to join.”

“I thought we’d do something more… I dunno, fun? We’re in a big city, full of possibilities, and fun stuff, and people! Yet we’re stuck here doing…” she forced herself to lower her tone, looking around with narrowed eyes, “stupid intel work.”

“You just wait, it’s not going to be boring much longer.” Jesse swallowed a mouthful of beer, exhaling loudly. “We’ve prepared everything. The guy will arrive in two days. We can set up the exchange, and get out of here.”

“Why all this work just to get some stupid microUSB from someone?” Lena’s question was of course rhetoric –she’d been briefed together with Jesse and Zenyatta before even leaving the base, but she’d had so little to do while Zenyatta and Jesse did their job that it was not a surprise she was feeling the strain of boredom.

Lena was a woman of action –it was part of her imprint, and part due to the ticking of the chronal accelerator she had to wear or carry with her all the time. Zenyatta often thought he envied her –he faced the world with a calm, secure pace, and sometimes he felt he did not allow himself to live enough, while Lena seemed to find much more pleasure in living a little more dangerously.

Of course, both extremes could be bad, but…

“Say, how’s work?” Lena had already changed subject, and was staring at Zenyatta with one cheek pressed on the surface of the table.

“It is not as dramatic as Jesse put it, Lena, and more often than not, customers complaints are about the service, not my being an omnic. It is not much different from the usual, and it allows me to pass the time.”

The air around them seemed to grow cold and Jesse froze, bottle of beer an inch from his waiting lips, both he and Lena shifting to stare at him.

“Zen…”

“Please, do not worry. It is alright.”

“But it isn’t? Not when…” Lena seemed distraught, and Zenyatta leaned forwards, one hand reaching out to touch her shoulder.

“No change happens overnight, Lena.” Zenyatta’s forehead array seemed to burn brighter for a second. “Many things are already different from the way they were years ago, thanks also to my brother’s work. Compared to then, it is astounding how far we are. Omnics make art, make shows, can become actors, writers, composers… and are paid for their jobs now. Is this not something already?”

“It is not _enough,_ though…” Lena sighed, then smiled without mirth. “I’m sorry, you’re the one who is involved the most yet here I go, stomping around like I know everything…”

“Do not discount how much we have managed simply because the road is difficult. I know you understand –we must rejoice in every little victory, while aiming high still.”

“Hear, hear,” there was a tiny, fond smile on Jesse’s lips as he tilted his beer bottle at them, then he hesitated, and winced. “… Zen, you are getting paid to do… this, right?”

Zenyatta watched him make a wide, awkward gesture that encompassed the pub around them, and his laugh was soft but honest. “Yes, Jesse. I am.”

“What about before?” Lena had a look to her, a mix of stubborn determination and curiosity as she fixed Zenyatta with an intense look. “Were you paid before? I mean, before… us.” She motioned to herself and Jesse, in a vague attempt to explain what she meant.

There was a small pause, and Zenyatta tilted his head to the side. “As you know, Shambali members are not exactly compensated for what we do. We do have donors and supporters, but…”

“Hmmm,” a slight flush covered Lena’s cheeks. “I meant –before that too. Before the Shambali. You said you never worked in retail, and I was wondering since, well, y’know, I don’t think I’ve heard you talk about who you were before you joined them.”

“I was nothing special, before I met my brothers and sisters,” Zenyatta spoke carefully, hands intertwined in front of him. “Just one among many who had no direction or… purpose.”

Lena opened her mouth to inquire further, only to be interrupted as Jesse pointed his bottle towards her, and she felt his foot tap hers in a warning under the table. “Feel much the same. Even with my gang I felt like I could do much _more_ , though well, we were not quite… lawful, y’know?” he flicked one hand, carelessly, and glanced over at Zenyatta. His forehead array flashed at him in what Jesse could only assume was relief. Well, Jesse could not hold that against him –he knew how these things worked, what it meant to have things you did not like to talk about. “Still had fun though. Bunch of weirdos, I tell you –except Bob. Ain’t got shit to say against Bob.”

Lena rolled her eyes, but she was grinning now. “We know, Jesse. You _always_ talk about that guy.”

“What can I say, he was definitely my type. Had a huge crush on him  at first, he coulda crushed me in one hand if he’d wanted to. Big fella." Jesse said, and even Zenyatta could not tell if he was joking or not, the same impish smirk on his lips. “Always had a thing for big… _big_ muscles.”

Lena nodded, apparently in agreement. “Aye aye, same for me! You should see Emily when she’s at the gym… right on dreamy, she is. And she’s _my_ girlfriend!”

Jesse gave her an unimpressed look. “I'm talking way bigger than that, Lena. I’m sure your girlfriend can lift, but Bob could have lifted _ten_ of me.”

“Uh, nah, Emily’s the right amount of ‘big muscles’ for me, thank you∼” then a little softer, but still loud enough that they could hear her, “and she can lift me anytime she wants.”

Zenyatta smiled at the banter, perfectly content with being included but remaining on the side lines for this conversation. Yet, Lena’s words –the way Emily’s name left her lips, like it was something precious, left Zenyatta feeling…

Empty, in a way.

It was surprising, for Zenyatta couldn’t think of anything sweeter than the relationship the two of them shared, but not as surprising as to realise that the emptiness was caused by a sense of envy.

Zenyatta had a secret –the kind that he could not very well share with anyone, least of all his teammates and friends– and the root of his dissatisfaction was exactly _that_ ; he had a relationship as well, one that was proceeding slowly, if only because they could not meet often at all, but for all the anticipation Zenyatta felt within his core at the thought, the greater part of him felt a sense of disappointment at the thought that he would never be able to be as open with it as Lena was about Emily.

Though he knew the fault was his own, since the man he was with was Akande Ogundimu –also known as Doomfist.

They could not meet as Emily and Lena could, to simply spend time together, and Zenyatta found, much to his surprise, that the thought soured his mood.

He understood why this was –after all, Akande was an outlaw, and one of the leaders of Talon, an organization that was actively working to bring unwanted change into the world. Yet, he was also the man who had wooed Zenyatta, who had made his core stutter with desire, who’d made him decide to pursue this relationship.

To try and hold in his hands something that could be his own, a moment of frailty that Zenyatta had allowed himself, guilty of wanting it, and one he had yet to find regret for –so was the truth of emotions, even omnic ones, even those belonging to a monk.

“D’you, like, have things like that?” the earnest look in Lena’s eyes startled Zenyatta as much as her words did. “I mean, things you like in people.”

Again, he could understand –she wanted to include him in the conversation, rather than monopolize it and only talk with Jesse, no matter how much they could go on and on– but the subject was a sore one, and Zenyatta almost stuttered.

“I do not… consider these things much, if at all,” he ended up answering, a careful balance of truth and omission.

“Oh, shit, did I overstep?” Lena’s eyes widened. “Is this a Zenyatta thing, or are there vows in your–”

“No, no,” he hastened to reassure her, feeling the pang of her panic tickle his senses. “The Shambali have no chastity vows, nor any vows that can restrain a soul from seeking contact or connections.” Zenyatta hummed, taking a moment to consider how to explain. He was sure Lena, of all people, would understand. “The Iris reaches to us through our own actions, by us seeking its light and opening up to it and similarly, bonds forged with others are important and protected. If we were to prohibit them, if we were to deny souls the chance to connect with others if they so wish, it would be against our very nature. Just like humans, omnics are social, and we know intimately how connections can make us stronger. There is freedom there, always –to pursue, if we so wish, what our souls want, without compromises, without judgement, without hatred.”

There was a light in Lena’s eyes, her eyes a touch more vibrant, almost watery. She nodded, lips stretched into a smile.

“Yet, I have to admit, I have rarely indulged in such train of thoughts myself.” Zenyatta looked down at his hands, observed them as he spoke, polished metal dented and scratched in so many places. “There have been times –but not many.”

Lena’s lips formed a small ‘o’ of surprise, while Jesse nodded, rubbing his chin. “I hear you.”

“So was there something that all of them had?”

Zenyatta watched them –their interest, the way they listened to him, not merely indulging him in such a subject but happy to include him– and he could not find it in himself to regret this small admission, though it was embarrassing to share with others such an intimate detail about himself.

There had been so few who had attracted his attention –fewer who had been made aware of such, and an even smaller amount who had accepted, and returned, his feelings.

All of them paled, compared to the sharp, intense _something_ that tied him to Akande.

The depth of his interest was concerning, in a way that left him wrong footed, excited yet worried, expecting every step to make him fumble and fall, and regret, yet that had not happened.

Jesse and Lena waited for him to sort his thoughts out, sipping their drinks in companionable silence, until he finally hummed, shaking himself out of his thoughts and where they’d led him, back to Akande –such a common thing, recently, that it felt like a well-practiced dance.

As he observed Lena and Jesse’s expectant faces, Zenyatta found himself smiling, giddy at the feeling of belonging, for a moment –of joking around with his companions… his friends. “Why, I think it _must_ have been the muscles.”

The undignified snort that both Jesse and Lena made was rewarding on its own, but their following laughter at his unexpected answer was even better, Jesse having to put down his beer else he drop it.

“Is that so?” Lena’s grin was so wide and bright it was contagious, and Zenyatta chuckled, nodding along. “Those big muscles are a hit for you as well, huh? Huh? Oh~ is that why you keep Genji around?”

This startled another laugh out of him, more out of disbelief than anything, but Lena was wriggling her eyebrows, impish and amused, and Zenyatta understood she was just teasing, and was not implying anything about his relationship with Genji.

“Well, how amusing –you found me out. The only reason I keep Genji around is to admire his big, prosthetic muscles. Lena, what could I ever do against your perspicacity?”

Jesse lost it at that, laughing and snorting into one hand until his shoulders were shaking, so hard Lena had to lean over to pat him gently on the shoulder. “Well, guess we found the one thing Genji’s got on his side. Always said his brains were not the thing that interested people.”

“Isn’t that the same thing he says about you?” Lena’s smirk widened when Jesse jolted, looking at her with play-pretend hurt.

“Yes, but you shouldn’t say that to _my_ face!”

They would have continued their playful squabble if Zenyatta’s chuckles did not stop them, his shoulders shaking so badly he had to muffle his synth with one hand, forehead array flickering to show his amusement to them, and they both grinned.

“Counting this as a personal win,” Jesse pointed his bottle at Zenyatta.

It took a while for Zenyatta’s giggles to subside, and by then, Jesse had called for another beer, and Lena was yawning.

“I don’t know about you, but I hate this downtime while on missions. You never know what to do to pass the time.” Lena stretched her legs under the table, twirling the teaspoon on her fingers. “Was thinking of streaming some movies tonight, maybe… something sci-fi.”

“Wait, why sci-fi when you could be watching some good ol’–”

“Not westerns on my watch, Jesse!”

“C’mon now…”

“I would not mind having a look around, myself. I have worked most of the day with no chance to rest, but I heard there was a museum not too far from our hotel.” Zenyatta had checked his remaining battery percentage extensively while working, and he knew that he could easily sleep for less than five hours and still recharge enough for his next shift, which meant he had the entire evening and a good part of the night for himself. It was not often he could visit a big city, so he could forego his usual evening meditation to be the tourist he wanted to be.

“Sounds, uh… so interesting!” Lena patted him on the shoulder, wincing at how unconvincing she sounded. “But~ if you want to join me for a movie at any point, you’re welcome!”

Zenyatta chuckled, aware that Lena did not quite like museums –though she could lose herself quite easily at any art exhibition, as long as they were the kind one could speed through and not fear to be too loud.

 “I think I’ll have another beer or two,” Jesse looked down at the two bottles in front of him, grimacing. “Maybe just one. Then… oi, Lena, you think I can join you for that movie?”

“Sure! I have to call Emily first and have a shower, so you can take your time here!” with a cheeky grin, Lena stretched and stood up, bouncing on the balls of her feet for a few seconds before she dashed towards the exit of the pub, though not before yelling in Jesse’s general direction, “thank you for the drinks!”

Startled, Jesse almost dropped his beer again. “Hey, who said I would pay? Lena!”

Zenyatta tried to keep his amusement from showing on his forehead array, but Jesse, as bright and aware as he was, read him far too well, and mock-glared at him. “Just so you know,” he sniffed, “I would have paid for yours anyway, if you’d gotten anything, but Lena is always mooching off me.”

“That is alright –she makes up for it with her bubbling personality, does she not?”

“Yeah –but you don’t tell her that, it’d ruin my whole… rough, ruff personality.”

“… indeed, you are well known for your aloof, distant persona.”

Jesse and Zenyatta exchanged a knowing, amused glance –a moment of understanding that went deeper than just their casual jokes– and then Zenyatta nodded and turned around to follow Lena’s footsteps.

“See you later, Jesse.”

***

The hotel room was small and bare, but Zenyatta was not really interested in commodities while on a mission.

It had two beds, one on each corner, a single armoire divided in two parts, a holo-vision and a decent-sized window that offered a rather bland view of the building on the other side of the street, a LED sign and a little view of more bland buildings. That was more than enough for himself and Jesse, while Lena had her own room a few doors down the corridor.

Zenyatta did not mind sharing spaces with Jesse –he had lived with his fellow monks for years, and with Genji as well, and the company was always welcome. As a roommate, Jesse was…

Peculiar, really.

There had been a time, during their first missions together, where Jesse had felt the need to keep up his rambunctious persona around Zenyatta, unaware that he could sense Jesse’s emotions, but now things had changed –Jesse was his friend, and they’d shared more than one moment of quiet contemplation together, enough that he could say, without doubts, that he truly enjoyed working alongside him.

That did not make Jesse any tidier, though. He left his clothes everywhere, and while clean, it still made the room a little messy and more lived. Zenyatta found this a bit endearing.

He moved around the room, checking the small computer they’d brought with them to make sure Winston had not called –or Genji– and seeing there were no missed calls nor messages for them, allowed himself to relax.

Jesse would be away for at least another hour or two, and Lena had her own room, so he had some time to rest before leaving the hotel for his museum tour. He considered leaving as he was, and recharge fully once he returned to the hotel room, but then he decided otherwise. He could meditate for an hour and still be able to enjoy himself, after all.

He moved to the corner of the room right under the window, his back against the wall, shut off his optical receptors and focused.

Slowly, he redirected his processes, calming the flow of thoughts and relaxing his tense servos, his omnic energy humming on his chassis.

Clearing his mind, Zenyatta abandoned both hands on his lap, synth vibrating in a soft, deep hum that washed away what thoughts had been left over, soothing his mind and easing his way into meditation.

He was shaken from it by a sharp, loud sound, auricular receptors recognizing it as knocking.

Zenyatta’s internal clock alerted him that it had been barely thirty minutes since he’d started his meditation, his battery level significantly higher, but the displeasure in this unexpected disruption made Zenyatta raise slowly, taking some time before he reached for the door.

He was not expecting Jesse to be back yet, so it was either the hotel staff or Lena. Perhaps she had forgotten something, or they had a change of plans?

It was –neither.

Zenyatta’s optical receptors moved up, then higher still, meeting the steady gaze of Akande standing in front of him, dressed in a casual attire, and he froze.

“No greetings, my monk?” Akande tilted his head to the side, deceptively smooth, his lips stretched into a pleased smile. “We haven’t seen each other in _so long_.”

“I…” Zenyatta’s synth almost cracked in surprise, but he controlled it. “… did not expect to see you here.”

Akande’s frame seemed to dwarf the door, and as his eyes settled on him, unmoving and focused with keen familiarity, Zenyatta felt exposed –almost naked.

“There is no casualty in our meeting today.” Akande seemed inordinately pleased, the aura surrounding him warm and simmering. “I knew you would be here, so I decided to come.”

Zenyatta’s sensors whirred as he remained silent, observing Akande, unable to look away.

The last time they’d seen each other had been during Zenyatta’s solo mission –and since then, almost a month had passed, with no contact whatsoever. Zenyatta had been sent on other missions, with his thoughts circling back to Akande often. He had refused to admit it, even with himself, but he missed his presence. Seeing him so abruptly now…

“I wonder,” he murmured, his voice devoid of any inflection, “whether Talon Leaders truly have so much free time, or if your presence here means you are on a mission of your own.”

He did not move, aware that if he conceded an inch, Akande would step inside, and –he could not allow that.

Not when he and Jesse shared a room.

Yet, having Akande stay in the corridor like this, out in the open…

“If I had as much, not a single moment would be spent away from you.” Akande delivered his words with such a finality that they rattled through Zenyatta, wrapping like a thick veil around his processors, heating them up. He realised, belatedly, that he needed to close himself from Akande’s emotions, but he found it difficult, when they were intoxicating, the echo so similar to Zenyatta’s own feelings. “Unfortunately, time is a luxury, for someone like me.”

“So you come to see me while _I_ am on duty?” despite the thrill that Akande’s words had caused, Zenyatta did not wish to show how they were affecting him. His presence, his words, his voice –he had missed the man in a way he could understand only now that he had him there, in front of him. He was glad he could control himself enough that rather than sounding pleased, his tone was merely amused. “Time is but an illusion… and I do have a job tomorrow morning.”

Akande did not move, nor did the intensity of his stare change, but his shoulders twitched. “Your cover is safe –and truly, you know as well as I do that nothing will happen until your… contact… comes through, and that will not happen for two more days.”

Again, Akande was showing his hand –his knowledge of Zenyatta’s mission, of Overwatch’s mission, was given without much thought, as if to be expected. Talon’s reach, the way they could gather intel… truly, overwatch had nothing of that.

It might not have been what Akande wished Zenyatta to focus on, but it was also the truth.

“That might be so, but the world does not stop spinning simply because you wish for it, Akande.”

The aura around Akande grew darker for a moment, responding to the way Zenyatta had said his name, reaching towards him with a sense of possessiveness that felt almost tangible to his sensors.

“You promised me I would be allowed to court you, my monk.” Akande murmured, and shifted forwards, extending one hand towards him. “That I would have a date with you.”

That was enough to startle Zenyatta out of his lull, snapping his attention away from the thick waves around Akande and to his words instead. “You… now?”

A nod. Akande had yet to look away. “If you would allow me.”

The words almost stumbled out of Zenyatta’s synth, but he stopped them, feeling their weight for what it was –he wished to. He wanted to. For the duration of their separation, Zenyatta’s thoughts has gravitated back to Akande over and over, thinking about him, about the time they had spent together, wondering, in the deepest parts of his mind, about what the man would wish to do, what they could do together, leaving him unsettled in many ways, bothered and almost anxious, his fans spinning faster every time.

Having him close now –he had not anticipated the yearning he would feel, and he had not even touched him yet… they remained unmoving, inches apart, and…

Now that he was _here_ , Zenyatta felt that even an inch between them was too much.

Did Akande know the thoughts that were passing through his mind? Did he know how hard it was to stand still and not reach out for him?

He was allowed to –to touch, to approach Akande first, to accept this– but he was caught in the depths of his own desire, so strong it caused Zenyatta to hesitate instead.

Zenyatta wished for Akande to move, to take this into his hands and come closer, so he could have that excuse to not come undone, yet the man did not do anything, simply watching him, his penetrant stare never leaving his faceplate.

“I did not think I would need to convince you, Zenyatta.” Akande hummed, not displeased, but sharp, and he shifted on his feet. “Do you have… second thoughts?”

“No.” Zenyatta spoke without thinking, a fraction of the emotion he felt slipping in his tone, so that the single word vibrated with more strength than he’d meant to use. “I have not.”

“Good.” And there –Zenyatta caught the flash of relief in Akande’s eyes, the way his shoulders seemed to relax. “Will you not allow yourself to have this? Will you not allow me… to have _this_?”

For a fleeting moment, Zenyatta thought about his idea to leave and visit the local museum, then come back and join Jesse and Lena for a movie –and how that seemed to pale, in comparison to an evening with Akande.

The weight of this choice seemed lighter somehow, almost unimportant, when his core fluttered at the thought of doing it, of going with him.

“How unpleasant,” he murmured, “I will have to reschedule…” he watched for a moment the minute changes in Akande’s expression, the flash of disappointment, the surprise that licked his senses, his aura growing heavy around him, then he continued, smoothly, “I do think Lena and Jesse will understand, though. And I will be able to visit many museums in the future.”

The soft, unimpressed snort coming from Akande made Zenyatta smile, his forehead array burning brightly.

“Does that mean you accept?”

“… yes.”

The change in both Akande’s aura and his face stole Zenyatta’s metaphorical breath away –the smile that stretched on his lips was wide, and pleased, and happy, and it made Akande look different, younger, excited even, his aura so light that it surrounded Zenyatta with a cloud of euphoria, enough that he fell speechless, his core tickled by it.

He took a step forwards then, drawn in by how breath-taking Akande looked, and Akande opened up for him, parting his arms so they could slot against one another, bodies flushed together. One of Akande’s arms slid down to wrap around his midsection, not to hold him still but to embrace him, and Zenyatta’s hand rose to press delicately against Akande’s chest, fingers sliding to hold on his tie, tugging him down until they were face to face.

“How presumptuous of you,” Zenyatta murmured, the metal of his faceplate fogging with Akande’s breath, “to come here, expecting me to agree without a second thought.”

“I could have stolen you away tonight, my monk,” the repressed laughter made Zenyatta’s core stutter again. “But I much prefer you following me of your own volition.”

“… so do I.”

He would do it, then –follow Akande, spend the evening with him… the thrill of the unknown made him feel light on his feet.

“If you allow me a moment, I will need to make sure my friends know I have not disappeared into thin air.” Removing himself from Akande’s arms was hard enough that he was left aching, chassis missing the heat and the arms surrounding him, but Zenyatta moved smoothly, taking a post-it block and a pen.

 _‘As I mentioned, I have left for a walk,’_ he wrote, not mentioning his change of plans. _‘I am unsure of when I will be back, but if you are still willing and it is not too late, I will join you for a movie then.’_

So far, he had not needed to lie, but he did wonder, with a tiny shiver, if he would even return early enough to join his friends.

He turned to look at Akande, who had not entered the room and was waiting by the door, still smiling.

“I assume you have ideas for tonight?”

“Yes, my monk… but we will need to make a detour, first.”

***

The hotel Akande had taken residence into was in a different area of the city, notably one that enticed the upper end of the population, and his room reflected that, as he had to his name a rather spacious suite.

There were three rooms –a sitting room, furnished with comfortable armchairs and a sofa in front of a holovision with a mini-fridge and a coffee table, a bathroom in the corner and a door that led to the suite’s bedroom.

The bed that Zenyatta could see from the suite’s entrance was queen sized, with satin white sheet and white, pristine cushions and delicate arrangements of flowers on the table by the bedside. It looked like the bed occupied a lot of the space of that room, too.

Akande held the door open for Zenyatta, who hesitated only for a second before letting himself in, optical receptors moving from one side of the empty room to the other.

There was little there of Akande –an opened bottle of what appeared to be wine, a glass and a holo-tablet– but Zenyatta paid little attention to that, his sensors buzzing quietly as he remained close to the door. Waiting.

His processors felt overcharged, and he  had been on edge during the drive on the car Akande had rented, acutely hyperaware of Akande’s body sitting next to him, their shoulders and sides pressed together.

He had expected –he had _hoped_ – that Akande would lean down to kiss him, and had found his mind singularly focused on Akande’s lips, optical receptors sliding away before returning there. Every time Akande shifted or breathed, Zenyatta felt a jolt inside his chassis, yet Akande remained courteous, almost casual, one hand gently wrapped around one of Zenyatta’s, the small contact sending nervous jitters down his back.

It felt stupid, to be so caught up with Akande’s presence, clouding his senses in ways Zenyatta felt was excessive, but he could not help it, though he hoped it was a simple momentary lapse.

The thought of instigating a kiss himself did pass through Zenyatta’s mind, yet he found himself initiating a conversation instead.

At first, he’d thought there would be little they could talk about, since most of their conversations in the past had been related to their positions in both Overwatch and Talon, or in some way to the precarious balance between their respective beliefs, and a part of Zenyatta had worried that this would be proof they were not made for this –for dating, for being together.

Instead, Akande had smiled at him, inquiring not about Zenyatta’s mission but about his previous visits to the city, and had even anticipated Zenyatta’s questions by admitting he was familiar with the area.

Rather than awkward, their small talk had been easy.

And for the whole time, Akande had continued to caress Zenyatta’s hand with his thumb, and Zenyatta had realised that even such a small contact could keep him flustered.

And now, finding himself in Akande’s bedroom, Zenyatta could feel himself react, his fans spinning a little faster as his body heated up, anticipation a thrill that made him unable to look away from Akande.

“Please, make yourself comfortable.” Akande turned around, motioning for the small sofa placed in a corner of the room, in front of the holovision.

Watching him move away, Zenyatta felt a fraction of disappointment –the man’s casual attitude enough to keep him on edge. Yet he accepted the offer, sitting down and waiting for Akande to return.

The alone time allowed Zenyatta a moment to collect himself, a sliver of worry for his own actions and thoughts that was like a stone disrupting a calm pond; his chassis was a few degrees hotter than it should be, his processes running sub-optimal, shuffling background processes on and off because most of the capacity kept focusing on keeping the reactions of his body less obvious, and it was disconcerting to watch, and feel, his body react in such a way simply because of Akande’s presence.

Zenyatta had spent countless nights worrying about having accepted his offer, about what it would mean to let a man such as him court him, and every time he’d pushed the thought away, to be dealt with at a later time.

That time had never come, his thoughts mediating his discomfort by prompting him to accept whatever would come out of it –for Zenyatta still did not regret having accepted. But those thoughts had been idle, in the wake of the distance between them.

Now, though… Akande was here with him, and Zenyatta was overwhelmed already.

Akande resurfaced from his room with a white box in his hands, and Zenyatta turned his attention to him.

“I suspect,” Zenyatta murmured, staring at the unassuming box, “that it might contain something you wish me to see?”

“Rather than see, it would be my pleasure if you could wear it for tonight’s date.” Akande moved closer, and Zenyatta’s core fluttered, expecting him to sit in front of him –yet Akande chose to sit at his side instead, leg pressing against one of Zenyatta’s. “It is my dream to be able to have you wear something that will complement you.”

“I feel,” he said, optical receptors moving to meet Akande’s eyes, “that we have had a similar conversation, before.”

“We did –but you have also accepted my proposal –and I did say that I wished to… court you properly, and offer you _gifts_.” Akande’s hand moved from the box and touched Zenyatta’s arm. “I have arrived abruptly to steal you away from your team, in hopes you would allow me to spoil you, tonight.”

“You do not need a fancy gift to impress me, Akande.” Zenyatta’s hand moved to cup Akande’s chin, gently. “I do not need–”

Akande’s lips were soft where they pressed against the palm of his hand, and Zenyatta’s fingers twitched at the feeling, his desire for Akande to move closer and kiss him properly so strong it left him reeling, words lost.

“Before rejecting my… gift…” Akande murmured, thumb curling under the edge of Zenyatta’s chin, “allow me to explain.”

Slowly, he opened the box, revealing what appeared to be a suit –simple in colour as it was, completely black, it had decorated sleeves in golden thread, a white shirt and a black and gold tie. The quality was astounding, the fabric smooth and expensive.

It was beautiful, in a way that even Zenyatta’s untrained optical receptors could appreciate.

“I wish for you to wear this on our date.” Akande pushed the box on Zenyatta’s lap, and he returned his attention to his face. “Have you ever heard of the Gran Theatre Doleaux, my monk?”

Tilting his head to the side, Zenyatta made an affirmative sound.

The Gran Theatre Doleaux, named after its illustrious founder Antoine de Doleaux, was one of the most famous opera theatres around the world, ranking fifth overall, and it appeared often on the news for its avant-garde shows and spectacles.

It had been built in the early decades of the twentieth century as the city around it expanded and grew, and at the time it had been considered a show of opulence, with its size and costs –it catered to the upper class, the kind of people who could afford to spend thousands for a single night, for a single _seat_ , surrounded by expensive beauty and lush interior design.

Famous names had been collected worldwide to decorate it, and the list was long enough that even the most uncaring person would recognize at least a few names involved in the project.

It was situated in a focal area of the city, away from the residential area and closer to the high-end shopping blocks, which meant far from where Zenyatta, Jesse and Lena had been stationed –for this reason, Zenyatta had not remembered it had been built there.

As the seconds ticked by, Zenyatta understood what Akande was offering him, and for a moment, his processes halted.

“That seems…” he hesitated, uncertain. “Rather excessive.”

Akande’s lips twisted in a smirk. “I would say the contrary –but I did promise I would impress you.”

“You bought the seats already.”

“I did.”

“You wish for me to wear…” Zenyatta looked down at the box, at the beautiful suit that would probably fit his frame perfectly, just like the last clothes Akande had given him had. “This, during our date.”

“I do.” A beat. “It would be unthinkable to be underdressed at such a place, after all.”

“You presumed I would accept –out of an obligation, perhaps?”

“No. You are free to refuse –if so you wish, I will dance on the streets for you, or stay in this room…” Akande’s voice dropped an octave “all night, with you.” Zenyatta’s core stuttered. “If you decide this is not to your liking, I will accept it, but… allow me to give you tonight, my monk. Allow me to entertain you. Allow me to…” he leaned closer, hot breath against the curve of Zenyatta’s faceplate “enjoy your company, and your presence by my side.”

“And you would accept my decision, even if it meant not going to… tonight’s show? Wasting the tickets you bought?”

“I would.” Akande’s voice held no trace of resentment, or amusement –he was serious, even if his smirk had not lessened. “Say a word, and I will comply.”

Zenyatta looked at him, though he refused to open his senses to probe deeper –he did not need to.

He knew Akande had no reason to lie –he viewed this chance as an opportunity, and Zenyatta knew that there were no tricks in his words. If Zenyatta decided to refuse, Akande would respect it. Of that, he was sure. If there was one thing Zenyatta had understood during their rare encounters, was that Akande’s feelings –his particular focus for Zenyatta, his interest– was honest. He had reservations about his _motives_ … but his feelings were true enough.

Yet, the idea of refusing seemed unpleasant –not for the waste of money, though spending such an amount for him seemed excessive, no matter what Akande said, but simply because Zenyatta had a certain appreciation for theatres, though he had not expected Akande to find out about that.

He’d never been able to go to a show before –being an omnic sometimes made things more difficult, and being a Shambali meant there would always be places he could not reach.

Yet, as with everything when it came to Akande, Zenyatta knew that accepting would mean giving in, allowing Akande yet another victory, allowing him to dress him up, spin him around in another dance, one that Zenyatta wished to dance but at the same time found too grand.

What would it say about him, if he continued to allow Akande to lead, to indulge in his desires while Zenyatta had no control, trapped like a fly in a web?

Zenyatta was no docile prey, even to the sweetest promises Akande could whisper in his auricular receptors.

A night at the opera, by Akande’s side. It was by no means unpleasant, and the choice seemed easy to make, when it would give both of them what they wanted, but the idea of being catered to in such a way was still enough to make him wait, and consider, and think, and…

“Zenyatta.” Akande’s voice attracted his attention once more, disrupting the way his thoughts had started spiralling down. “This is no mission, nor life or death situation… it is just a date. With me. All I wish is to spend time with you. It does not require hesitation.”

Startled, Zenyatta’s forehead array blinked.

His senses expanded slightly, vibrating under the depth of Akande’s aura, and he felt laughter bubble up to his synth, amused at himself, and his own indecision.

“How fortunate,” he kept his voice steady, “that I do not wish to test your word.”

A shift in Akande’s aura, lighter, anticipating. “Do you accept, then?”

Zenyatta offered him a forehead array smile. “Yes.”


	2. Chapter 02

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who makes a special cameo in this chapter? >:D

**Chapter 02**

The Gran Theatre Doleaux was even grander up close.

The driver waited in line after a few other limos, and then he stopped right in front of the gates. Akande exited first, circling the car to open and hold the door for Zenyatta, who paused to stare at the building while the driver pulled out and drove away.

There were signs leading to the other side of the theatre for the private parking lot, but there were other cars waiting in front of the building, and a trail of patrons making their way up the wide, open staircase to the entrance doors. Zenyatta’s senses shifted from the open, well-lit area, the staircase adorned with potted plants and robust bushes, to the building’s exterior, observing the area with open curiosity until he finally redirected his attention to the people around him.

The blur of colours was what interested him –there were many who wore black suits, but just as many had colourful dresses, embroidered or stitched to create beautiful patterns, and a lot of the patrons seemed to appreciate headwear that attracted attention as well, with wide hats with flowing ribbons or smaller, more delicate-looking creations of flowers and pins.

He also noticed, and quite easily, that most people moved in cliques, couples or singles or at most parties of four, and did not seem inclined to interact with many others. Some nods, a few casual, small waves, and even those who lingered to exchange a few pleasantries did so in a way that felt distant to his optical receptors, aloof while attempting to appear warm.

Akande stood out among the crowd, commanding respect and catching the attention of those closest to him, and Zenyatta had to pause on the steps of the staircase to admire him as well, aware that many were casting glances at him just for being at his side.

A few people glanced at him, politely curious or annoyed, but most of them dismissed him to return to Akande.

He wore a black suit, not unlike Zenyatta’s own, but without any embroidered golden patterns on his sleeves or on the hem of his jacket, with a single golden handkerchief peeking from his front pocket –the only colourful detail that seemed the same as the gold on Zenyatta’s own suit. In a way, which Zenyatta had noticed once they’d both finished dressing up, Akande had meant for them to match.

“Are you coming, my monk?” Akande turned around, shaking Zenyatta from his staring, and he nodded, a soft hum vibrating in his synth as he tilted his head a little.

“I was simply… admiring the view.”

He caught Akande’s smirk before the man schooled his expression and offered him his arm, courteous and proper, and Zenyatta shook his head but accepted the offer, wrapping one hand around his bulging forearm.

For a moment, as he walked by Akande’s side up the staircase to the entrance of the theatre, Zenyatta allowed his senses to be swallowed by his surroundings, picking up the excitement of those around him, their anticipation, though there were a few whose happiness was constricted under a veil, their desire to impress stronger than any real enjoyment for the show.

The mix of emotions was, at its root, humanity, and Zenyatta hummed quietly and closed his senses again.

The entry hall was, if possible, even more grandiose than the outside –two wide staircases on both sides led to the upper level of the opera theatre by joining at the top, their marble railing polished and the steps covered in plush red carpet, curtains of the same colour adorning the walls around him, and beautiful plants in vases were strategically placed in every corner, making the hall seem warm and welcoming while filling some of the empty space.

Akande flashed his holo-tickets to the attendant waiting inside the entrance, and after one look at it, he received a low, respectful bow and was allowed inside. As Zenyatta followed him inside, he glanced at the man, who studiously avoided looking at him, his gaze lowered to appear subservient.

Akande paused after they entered to have a look around, and Zenyatta did the same, appreciating the décor of the theatre, reds and whites offering a pleasing mesh to his optical receptors, then he felt Akande’s arm circle his waist, tugging him closer, and all thoughts scattered again at the possessive action, feeling the heat of Akande’s body against his chassis.

“We have some time, before the show commences.” Akande motioned for the upper levels, and Zenyatta followed his gaze, curious about what seats he had reserved for them. “But I would prefer if we found our seats first.”

“Is this an attempt to avoid unnecessary encounters you do not wish to bother with?” yet, Zenyatta’s voice was teasing, and Akande’s smirk was followed by his hand inching lower, not enough to be indecent, but enough to get a startled chirp from Zenyatta, senses alight with the teasing touch.

“Hmmm, I wonder?” Akande returned his gaze forwards but he did not move his hand, and Zenyatta fell in step with him, processors tingling, part of him wishing that hand would travel lower, another part of him shocked at his own shameless desire.

So far, Akande had acted like a gentleman –even while undressing, he had allowed Zenyatta some privacy, offering him his bedroom to change and changing in the bathroom instead, only coming out once they both were decent. Zenyatta had felt a sliver of disappointment then, chasing the thought away the moment it had appeared in his mind.

The idea that Zenyatta could be so trapped within his own desire whereas Akande could seamlessly keep steady was yet another chip on Zenyatta’s worry, and another one he pushed deliberately away.

If the entry hall was a sight to behold, the corridors that led to the actual theatre were an extension of it –Zenyatta’s sensors noticed the noise-cancelling tech, which allowed sound to not carry too far, offering the perfect acoustic setup and a decree of privacy, should the visitors wish to chat while in the corridors, and the draped walls were decorated with chandeliers and paintings… though, if he had to be honest, most of his processes were still caught in Akande’s touch, the hand on his lower back a pleasant warmth against his chassis.

The theatre itself, once they found the right hallway, had Zenyatta stop, optical receptors moving to take in the sight, and Akande stopped as well, tilting his head with smug satisfaction as he observed Zenyatta, rather than their surroundings.

“Is it worth the price?”

“I would not know,” Zenyatta replied absently, even as he observed the rows of red seats surrounding the stage like a crown, the various slots neatly divided. The boxes on the walls were slowly filling up, people taking place in preparation for the event. “The main event hasn’t even started yet.”

Akande chuckled, amused, but allowed Zenyatta a few more seconds to look around before he steered him forwards, circling the outer curve of the upper seats until they found a staircase, which led them down to a row of private boxes.

The stage was built in beautiful mahogany wood, surrounded by metal and carbon fiber, curtains draped on the background to hide the backstage; all the lights were still lit, as the show had not started, and the size of the auditorium was enough to make him realise just how grand the place was.

The ‘boxes’ that Akande led Zenyatta to were more like open platforms –there was only a thin railing surrounding them on three sides, with seats that appeared a little bigger than the ones in the parterre, though they were made of the same red material. There was a coffee table in front of them, and the floor of the platform was covered with a dark carpet.

Surrounded as they were by other platforms slowly receiving their own patrons, the area was nonetheless in a splendid position to look onto the stage.

Yet, the real surprise happened once they both sat down –a flicker of electricity surrounded the platform, and under Zenyatta’s surprised gaze, holographic walls built themselves around them, surrounding the box until the theatre around them disappeared, leaving them secluded and in the privacy of their own box.

“That is… ingenious.” Zenyatta moved away from Akande to press one hand against one of the walls, finding it resisted to the touch, though he felt underneath his servo, barely audible, the hum of the engine keeping the hologram up. “I suppose once the show starts, the wall in front of our seats will reveal the stage?”

“Indeed.”

Akande’s voice sounded closer than before, and Zenyatta felt his hands slide down to his sides, tugging him against Akande’s chest before twisting him around so they faced one another.

In the privacy of the box, with no curious eye to see them, Akande relaxed against him, gaze burning right into Zenyatta, sending waves of heat down his back.

“Though I would not mind the show to be delayed,” he murmured, leaning down until they were close, Akande’s lips brushing against the curve of Zenyatta’s faceplate. “I rather like what I see now.”

Processors stuttering, Zenyatta pressed one hand against Akande’s chest, feeling his heartbeat steady under his fingers, and chuckled, finding himself breathless even when he had no need to breathe.

“Akande–”

“We have been… far too busy. I have not had time to enjoy your presence properly,” Akande interrupted him, one thumb caressing the edge of his mouth piece, and Zenyatta leaned into the touch. “You are… magnificent, in these clothes. Here, among them, you are still the only one worth looking at.”

“The beauty is in the eye of the beholder, is it not?” still, Zenyatta could not help the flutter in his chest, familiar to him with how often Akande seemed to praise him. “I am but a single omnic in a crowd. Yet…” he traced the edge of the collar of Akande’s shirt, idle. “I will content myself to hold your attention, and yours only.”

“That you have.” Akande licked his lips, his gaze still burning into Zenyatta’s optical receptors. “I only desire for priceless things, after all. I only want _the best_.” Then, he seemed to soften. “I could lose myself in you for a lifetime, and resurface still wanting.”

The compliment was sweeter than Zenyatta had expected, familiar with Akande’s praise but not with the honest, raw emotion he caught in his expression, and he felt weightless and heavy at the same time.

“It would be a mistake,” he murmured, the vertigo lessening as he shifted a little into Akande’s arms. “I would use that against you.”

“Hmmm. Would you now?” Akande’s eyes were sharp, and he pushed into Zenyatta, his hands sliding up his back then down again, though they stopped again, much to Zenyatta’s displeasure, before wandering too low.

“You should be wary,” Zenyatta looked up at him, his forehead array flickering, “For it is quite a steep rabbit hole the one you’re eyeing, and it would not do to end up trapped.”

Yet, Zenyatta was speaking more to himself than to Akande, a light, almost invisible tremble travelling down his body.

“Perhaps,” Akande did not seem to agree, but he was still smirking. “Or perhaps, I am looking forwards to it. The thrill is worth giving in.”

“Easy for you to say, when you are calling the shots.” Zenyatta fought with himself and pushed Akande away, just enough to get free, but he was unable to move too far, enraptured by the closeness, by the scent of Akande’s aftershave, by the aura he could perceive even with his senses closed off. “I am here, wearing clothes you picked for me, in a place of your choosing… am I not the one who’s captive?”

“Do you _feel_ yourself captive, Zenyatta?”

Zenyatta shivered, and this time it was visible, even as he turned around to look at the small, secluded box that kept them away from prying eyes.

His body felt still on edge, anticipating the thought of Akande getting even closer, hoping for it, yet at the same time, there was a knot of anxiety deep in his core that made his system stutter with an incognita he could not name.

 _‘Am I not, when all I can think is of you?’_ he thought, but he was unable to speak the words, stuck in his synth where he could not voice them.

But even that would be too much –allowing Akande to know, clearly, without doubt, that Zenyatta was caught, spinning in his web.

As it was, he’d already stepped in too deep.

“I would see it fair for our next date to fall on my terms,” was what he said instead, fingers tracing patterns on Akande’s chest, yet keeping enough distance not to lose himself. “Though you would not find a night spent mediating with me as… satisfying.”

“You take me for a man who has no need for quiet recollection, or do you think I would not enjoy your presence at my side, regardless of the activity?” Akande’s lips twitched. “Though I daresay I would prefer a night spent making you scream my name to one spent in silence.”

And when Akande pushed against him, like Zenyatta had hoped, like he’d been afraid to want, Zenyatta gasped and stumbled backwards, processes fizzling as Akande pressed him against a tangible holographic wall –though he went willingly, body keyed up and aching down to his core.

The kiss was soft, and gentle despite Akande’s previous force, lips barely parted against his mouth piece, burning hot, and Zenyatta jolted before he returned the kiss, desperate to keep Akande close to him.

He felt one hand caress its way down his side and he fought down a moan, his modesty plate burning for a touch, yet Akande, again, refused to give him even that, thumb curling at his hip and staying there, rubbing a spot that kept Zenyatta tense, his anticipation building and fizzling–

“We should get ready,” Akande murmured against his mouth piece, lips curled upwards, and then he moved away, slowly, his lips lingering for one last kiss. “The show will start soon.”

Zenyatta was left leaning against the wall, fans spinning, modesty panel aching for a touch that never became true, processes faltering and restarting as Akande offered him a hand.

“… yes.”

Steadier than he felt, Zenyatta allowed Akande to lead him back to the seats, pushing the ache down, his sensors alight as the lights of the box grew dimmer, and the wall in front of them disappeared, revealing the theatre now plunged into darkness, save for the stage, lit up with lights in preparation for the show.

***

The play, or at least the first part of it, was mesmerizing.

The way the actors moved on the stage captured his attention like a moth to a flame, and as Zenyatta had always been a fan –though he only caught showings on the holovision or online, and had never seen one in real life– it was easy for him to lose himself to the story.

There was something peculiar with watching one live –things that cameras could catch from every angle he could not see, but he saw more, the stage lit in such a way that no gesture, no expression was lost to him.

It felt like he could reach out and be part of it, and Zenyatta found himself enamoured.

The plot started slowly, introducing the actors as they appeared on the stage, the set a not-so-distant past in a small, secluded city. The actors danced and spoke their lines, becoming the characters they were representing, and Zenyatta’s optical receptors were glued on them. This close, with the box hovering above the stage without getting in the way of the view for other patrons, as the same hologram walls made the box virtually invisible to the eye, Zenyatta could catch every movement and change of expression.

So taken with the story, Zenyatta’s attention so absorbed he leaned forwards in his seat, forehead array dim in concentration, he did not notice the way Akande’s eyes strayed from the actors to him often, fingers tapping on the handle of his seat and more than once twitching in restraint, yet he never moved, never tried to reach for him, content in watching as Zenyatta enjoyed the show.

When the lights on the stage dimmed slightly, the auditorium around them flickered and lit up, first near the stage then gradually across the entire hall, and Zenyatta’s forehead array blinked as the actors paused.

“Ah,” he said, voice almost disappointed. He turned to look at Akande, startled to see him look at him, rather than the stage, lips tilted in a grin, and his synth made a scratch-like noise, the same weird mix of feelings returning with vengeance now that there was no play that could distract him. “I…”

“Is it to your liking so far, Zenyatta?”

Embarrassed, he simply nodded. “It is… a riveting story, and the actors are excellent.”

“It pleases me to hear you say so.”

Akande still did not look away, and Zenyatta’s optical receptors shifted down to his lips, barely parted, and he felt his core burn, wanting to reach him and kiss him, use his omnic energy to make them tingle until he could steal a sound from Akande, just one–

“I hope you also find the show interesting,” he said, tone almost breathless, and Akande finally blinked, offering him a considering nod.

“It is not as I expected, but it is rather enjoyable. I have heard positive reviews on the play and the actors’ skills, yet I did not expect it to be this pleasant, in person.”

Zenyatta chuckled, amused at the disgruntled, offhanded praise Akande had offered. “Truly, the company makes it the more interesting, certainly.”

The smooth, warm tone seemed to startle Akande, because his eyes widened a fraction, grin lost to a moment of surprise before he recovered it, looking if possible even more pleased.

“Indeed, it is. Please, allow me.”

Zenyatta’s processors jolted in anticipation, expecting –anticipating– for Akande to lean closer, perhaps to steal a kiss… only to be, once again, disappointed, when instead Akande tapped his fingers on the surface of the coffee table in front of them, revealing a small numeric keyboard and a holopad.

Zenyatta watched him consider what looked like an impressive selection of bottles, pressing two different kinds, and the holopad vibrated, glowing green for a moment before a slot within opened up, and much to his surprise, two tall flutes shimmered into view, teleported from somewhere else in the building.

“It is not a secret that the Gran Theatre Doleaux has received technology from the famous Vishkar group –their hard-light constructs are rather helpful, and avoid the mess of ordering and having to wait.” There was an edge of smugness in Akande’s voice, but Zenyatta leaned back, observing the flutes with distaste. “In fact, as far as I am aware, Vishkar supplies many high-end theatres and cinemas with similar technology… at a price.”

For a moment, the air between them shifted, albeit imperceptibly, and Zenyatta was once again an Overwatch agent, thoughts of Vishkar to the forefront of his thoughts, vivid in detail due to Lucio’s words of warning, and his heartfelt recounting of his situation with the organization.

They were not quite sure that Talon and Vishkar had a connection, nor that they were partners, or even allies –it was more probable, at least to Zenyatta, that if the two organizations were to ever meet, they would try to use one another, though the result would be nothing Overwatch would like.

Zenyatta’s senses tightened, and he wondered –was this Akande’s attempt to hint, or nudge, at what Overwatch already suspected?

Or was he simply prodding at Zenyatta, in an attempt to start another kind of game between them?

“It seems like Vishkar has quite a steady standing,” he chose to say, voice even but with an edge of steel. “I guess money can truly open doors that should be otherwise sealed shut.”

“Many are more than willing to ignore the most obvious things if it brings them a convenient opportunity, my monk… and many more prefer to turn a blind eye, if the gain is greater to the cost.” Akande reached out for one of the flutes, filled with a dark red wine, and held it in front of him for a few seconds, rolling it in its glass to admire the colour before sniffing it, lips stretched in satisfaction. “And if the cost does not have to be paid by them, well… they will deny the truth even if it stands in front of them.”

Zenyatta’s head flinched back at that, but he knew the truth of Akande’s words.

Vishkar could extend its control over various nations easily because they knew how to quietly snuff any talk, any rebellion, any suspicion. Even if people like Lucio spoke up and exposed the truth, Vishkar had the money, the funds and the support to spin the truth to their favour, and silence the opposition.

The only reason Lucio could not be truly silenced was because he’d gotten famous enough that his own fame protected him, making it more difficult for Vishkar to put an end to their feud.

Akande’s eyes burned into his optical receptors, then his body relaxed, and he shifted back a little –it was only then that Zenyatta realised he’d been leaning over him, almost imposing.

“Forgive me.” Akande took a careful, small sip of wine, and hummed at the taste. “I promised this… would not be sullied by our… respective alliances.”

Zenyatta stared at him, almost suspicious, and dared to open his senses, brushing against Akande’s aura to try and understand. The man had seemed content until then, and his apology sounded honest, yet the sharp focus from before, the casual mention about Vishkar… that had been sudden, and unexpected.

He wanted to know.

“It seems you find it difficult to keep your word,” casual, yet sharp, and Zenyatta watched Akande stiffen, his grip on the flute tightening.

A second, then another, and–

“I did not expect I would feel upset by having to share your attention with the play, my monk.”

The tone was serious, and so was his face, but Akande was not looking at him, a tiny frown as he stared into the depths of his wine glass, and Zenyatta was startled by the wave of honesty he could read in the man’s aura, displeasure and bitterness mixed together.

Jealous.

Akande was–

The laughter was quiet, and he could not stifle it, one hand over his synth and part of his mouth piece, shoulders shaking as the suspicion melted, though Zenyatta was still surprised and touched at the admission.

Somehow, the idea that Akande was not in control as he seemed was… appeasing. Reassuring, in a way that filled his chest with relief.

Zenyatta had felt out of his depths for most of the evening so far, lost in his own desire which had not lessened, for every glance at Akande made it resurface, but he’d also envied him for his casual attitude and now…

“That…” he took a moment to calm himself, though Akande was now looking at him, the frown gone. “Was an adequate compliment. Thank you.”

Before he could think better of it, he leaned closer, omnic energy flickering against Akande’s slack lips in a short, tingling kiss, his sensors fizzling with anticipation, forehead array burning–

Around them, the lights dimmed, and once again the stage lit up, becoming the focus of the night, and Zenyatta moved back, as slowly as he could with his core working overtime to compensate, and smiled at Akande.

“It is starting again,” he murmured.

He turned to stare at the stage, the first few actors walking with purpose to the centre of it, and he felt Akande’s eyes stay on him, refusing to look away. He wondered whether to indulge him, or tease Akande that the show was elsewhere, and then…

A hand moved towards him, and his fingers were caught by Akande’s larger ones in a steady, warm grip.

Zenyatta’s processes halted and restarted, heat making its way through his servos, shivering when Akande’s thumb caressed his knuckles and palm.

Under that scrutiny, Zenyatta’s body burned like a flame, the desire that had calmed down somewhat returning with vengeance as he wondered if that hand would wander now, move its way up to his faceplate, or to his neck, or lower–

“I ordered something for you as well,” Akande murmured. “I am aware you have refused my offer in the past, but I thought… maybe here, tonight, with me… you could indulge.”

Zenyatta looked in front of him, to the other flute he had forgotten about. It was, as Akande had hinted, not wine, nor anything Akande himself could drink. It was oil, probably selected from the range of options the theatre offered even for omnics, and the temptation to say no crashed against his curiosity.

He had already decided to enjoy his night out, but this was… a different thing altogether.

The hesitation was enough that Akande’s hand tightened around his own. “Forgive me for pushing. I do not require you to go along with everything I say. I am glad for your presence here already, everything else is a mere extra.”

Akande finally looked away, offering Zenyatta a moment of respite, and he tried to calm his jittery processes, the feeling of fingers around his own keeping him both grounded and on edge, but Akande had not pushed him, and he allowed himself to let go of his moment of hesitation, ignoring the flute of oil to return his full attention to the play…

Even though a part of him was still aching with disappointment as Akande simply held his hand, his body singing in anticipation due to a desire that he knew would not be met.

***

Zenyatta’s fans were spinning fast, his temperature high enough that they were making noise, enough to be almost embarrassing.

It had been… difficult, to focus on the show –Akande’s hand in his own was warm and steady, but it also proved to be incredibly distracting, and though most of Zenyatta’s processors were following the story the actors wove on the stage, a part of him was still, constantly, fixed on Akande’s hand, on his presence so close, unable to forget or let himself relax.

It was unsettling, how much Zenyatta still hoped that Akande would lean in, while at the same time worried about his own reactions if he did so –it was difficult to predict what the man would do, but it was shocking to realise Zenyatta himself would easily fall in step with it.

The desire to be in Akande’s arms again, to forget even about the show, was a constant nagging feeling and it disrupted his focus in a way that made him unsteady.

How had Akande wormed his way into his thoughts so much that every little motion, every action, could undo Zenyatta’s careful control in such a way?

The crew stopped the play once again, this time for a longer break, and Zenyatta welcomed and dreaded that with equal intensity, afraid he would be the one to goad Akande into acting, but he did not have to worry about that –Akande’s phone buzzed quietly in his pocket and with a grimace, Akande turned to him.

“I need to take this call. I will be back.”

Displeasure was written on his face, and Zenyatta did not need to read his aura to know he was unlikely to be happy about the disruption, but he watched the man leave with relief, prioritizing his fans now that he was alone in the box, until the temperature of his chassis finally decreased, and he could think with more clarity.

Dangerous –the man could be so dangerous without even realising it.

Standing up, Zenyatta moved to the entrance of the box, glancing outside. The row of seats were emptying slowly as most of the patrons left to enjoy their break, and moved by a sudden need Zenyatta did the same, exiting the box and moving towards the stairs that led to the upper corridor area.

Akande was nowhere in sight, but he supposed that he would not wish to be overheard if the phone call was truly important –if this was Talon business, a part of Zenyatta’s processes whispered, then it stood to reason he would not wish Zenyatta himself to listen… or any of the other patrons, since the area was rather crowded during the break.

Unwilling to return to the box, as it felt stifling, Zenyatta decided to explore the theatre corridors. It was still new to him, but his innate curiosity did not leave him be, and without Akande to be a distraction, he could at least have a look around.

A thought wormed its way inside him –would he be able to scout possible supporters for Overwatch, considering how the only patrons of the theatre were rich?

He considered the matter, careful to keep himself neutral. He was on a date, and if Akande had promised they should not think about their respective alliances then, half the duty fell on Zenyatta’s shoulders too, so the idea of going behind him was distasteful… yet, he could not hide from the truth –Talon had so many supporters and investors that it felt secure. Overwatch lacked funds, and a proper management, and numbers. If Zenyatta was in a position to inquire, to scout for possible help, even in such a way… should he not do it for its sake?

He mediated between those instinctual desires by deciding to simply look around –and if he happened upon someone worth talking to, he would reconsider the matter accordingly.

After all, Zenyatta knew where to look.

There was a distinction between those who dressed to impress those higher in rank, a one-time luxury that could, if done right, open them doors to success, and those who treated this night at the theatre as a routine. The latter had a different, more natural gait, the look of those born and grown into money, tiny gestures that seemed casual but were in fact practiced to perfection.

If he had been wearing a waiter attire, he could have blended in seamlessly, used it to his advantage, moving around without been seen simply because no one would care to look at a worker… yet, this time he was dressed to be part of them, expensive clothes that spoke of affectation, of wealth. To those around him, Zenyatta was among peers, which meant he needed to act differently too.

Being singled out might not be dangerous here, not if he did not plan to come back –and he did not– but part of him still felt that urge, the need to make sure to be unnoticeable, the same instinct that had kept him alive, more than once, in the past. Adaptability was part of who he was, now.

As he walked, he shifted his stance, brought his shoulders back, chin tilted up, and he straightened his back to his full height. If a waiter would have attempted to slouch as much as possible, to look smaller and less interesting, now he had to do the opposite and it showed –gone were the careful, slow steps, switched to a steady but secure gait, the subtle changes turning him into a different omnic.

The first few patrons he met on his walk glanced at him in curiosity, only to look away quickly, his uncaring attitude passing as familiar to them, and they soon lost interest, though Zenyatta was far from indifferent, and kept his optical receptors flickering from person to person, analysing and observing them.

He encountered more and more people as he walked, the break allowing them some freedom to even mingle and chat, but with more people came more interest towards him –with more and more patrons turning to catch a glimpse of him, some with disinterest, a few others with calculated curiosity… and some with a different emotion altogether.

He did not need to open his senses to see the sudden twitch of distrust on their faces, so evident with the way their bodies shifted, defensively, at his sight, though they tried not to look cowed.

Omnic hatred was common, after all, and far too familiar.

As he passed by, people went suspiciously quiet, a studious effort to ignore him and he did not linger, walking through the hallways and the corridors with no apparent care, his back held straight and his optical receptors set in front of him. He knew that most people would not act on their distaste, and propriety would keep them in line, but he did not wish to stay where he was unwanted.

The theatre seemed even bigger on the inside, wide archways and corridors, furnished the same way on each of the four floors, red plush carpets and gold-framed canvases depicting generic views of fields or mountains or wood, with the occasional modern touch of a car, a flying vehicle or a shuttle to indicate they were recent. It was astonishing how much work had been invested not just in the creation of the theatre, but in its upkeep, but it truly was a sight to behold, and Zenyatta appreciated it as he walked, observing everything with a keen, curious gaze.

The next hallway he found himself walking into was even bigger, with a few groups of people talking idly, discussing the merits of the show or their own  lives.

Zenyatta’s eyes did not linger on them, merely observing their clothes and attitude, and turned his attention on the big, impressive window on the far end of the hall.

The view… from this up high, the city was sparkling. His internal clocks alerted him that it was past ten already –he wondered if Jesse had found his message, and what he’d thought of it. He expected to feel a twinge of regret for his choice, yet he could not –despite his reservations about dressing up and about the theatre and how out of place he felt here, Akande’s presence seemed to make up for all of that.

Zenyatta pressed one hand against the glass, feeling discord swell up in his chest at the beautiful view.

This was the same city he’d seen from down below, with Jesse and Lena, as they worked to make sure they could complete their mission.

It had looked different, then –normal, busy, chaotic even at night, almost dangerous, being an omnic.

From up here, Zenyatta could see something else –a view that only the patrons of the theatre could enjoy, resplendent and sparkling, a city that seemed full of promise and beautiful, where they could look on, removed from the truths of the people who lived below.

What it could offer was different for those who had the means to grasp whatever they wished with no consequences.

Among them, Zenyatta felt uneasy at the distinction, aware that there were some distances that could never be truly filled.

“Quite the beautiful view, is it not?” an unfamiliar voice spoke from behind him.

Shoulders tense, Zenyatta did not turn around, offering an air of casual carelessness as he continued to look outside, but the reflection on the window was that of an omnic.

“This theatre is famous for its view,” the omnic continued, with the same startling deep voice. “But after a while, one tends to forget about it. Many recurring patrons barely glance outside after the first few times.”

“To the untrained eye, beauty shines in everything, and even the most familiar sights can be rediscovered, if one looks with a new eye.” Zenyatta hummed softly, optical receptors focusing on the view outside once more. “And sometimes, perspective can shift one’s perception to new heights.”

A soft snort. “Impressive, yet naïve. Not everything is afforded such a level of importance. More often, the unusual fades into complacent tedium.”

Zenyatta finally turned around to face the other omnic.

He was tall, as tall as Zenyatta himself was, a model sleek and polished, with a seven-point array that burned red above dark optical receptor slits. He wore a suit not dissimilar to Zenyatta’s own, but completely black, the fabric looking softer and smooth to the eye, and it suited him, as his polished metal was dark in tones, darker at the top of his head, where it was styled to resemble slicked-back hair.

He had an air of complacence, looking to Zenyatta relaxed and at ease.

It was also the first omnic Zenyatta had seen within the theatre.

“How disappointing it would be, not to find at least some joy in rediscovering beauty in something familiar,” he replied, and folded his hands in front of himself. “Perhaps one should simply remember how it felt the first time, or distance themselves from the familiar, to allow it to become new once again.”

“I would rather call that exhausting,” the other omnic replied, voice smooth, but there was an edge of amusement there. “I do believe one’s mind has to rest, sometimes.”

“I do agree –yet there should always be time for reflection in one’s life, so not to fall prey to disenchantment and lethargy. The familiar can turn into a difficult cage to shrug off.” Then, Zenyatta paused, and tilted his head. “Is that not what art is for? Through a different perspective, even the common, expected things can take a new spin. Minds are inspired and create, allowing others to see things they would have never thought to see before.”

The omnic seemed startled by this direction, but considered the words for a moment, taking it in stride. “Art is but a medium, I do agree.”

“Indeed… is this theatre not an example? Stories are built on familiarity, but each of them is woven to take different routes, so that us, as viewers, can enjoy them.” Zenyatta offered the other omnic a shrewd forehead array smile. “The play we are both here to see today is such a thing, is it not? An old tale retold through more modern means, that leads to something different and new.”

“Interesting words, and not at all untrue. Modernizing an old tale has its appeal.” He hesitated, then hummed, his synth vibrating. “Yet, even then there would be a schism. Attracting new viewers, yet possibly antagonise those whose views remain rooted in the past, unwilling to change.”

“Unfortunately. Art is never a fixed point in time –thoughts change, and so do people, and old pieces will hold different meanings as time passes… deniers and supporters both will change, and what they see in the same piece will also evolve with time. Yes, a true example of the ability of a single thing to become inspiration for many, of being able to use growth to find the novel in the familiar.”

Zenyatta paused again, observing the omnic’s emotionless exterior, and decided to add, voice neutral, “omnics are also a prime example of this. Humans rely so much on visual clues that we adapted ourselves, where our faces cannot convey emotions, we use other things… motions, gestures, the tone of our voices… yet, even with an unchanging faceplate, we are able to convey exactly what we wish to. Omnics saw art and regarded it in a novel way, and it pushed some into creating, as well.”

The omnic seemed startled again, then he chuckled, tilting his head forwards, and Zenyatta found the perspective made him look almost feral, light reflecting on the opaque metal of his faceplate to accentuate this.

“Art was something made by humans for humans, yet we took that in our own hands. The allure of it can be felt even by a calculating, mechanical mind… to understand limitations and grow past them. To own something that was never meant for us, and carve a space for ourselves, be it by force or by design.” He nodded at Zenyatta, one hand on his chest. “Maximilien. I do not frequent this theatre much, but I must say… the quality of the company tonight is… surprising. I have rarely seen omnics here in the past.”

That sounded like a compliment, but a peculiar one. Zenyatta did not need to think much about why –Maximilien belonged, and it showed, but he also did not seem to mingle extraordinarily well among people who disliked omnics so… and that dislike was clearly returned.

Yet, the air of superiority was something Zenyatta could not truly appreciate, even in such a setting, and the differences between them were visible even to a clueless eye.

Where Zenyatta’s faceplate offered a benign, kind appearance, built to reassure others and put them at ease, Maximilien was different; angular lines, sharp angles, darker metal compared to Zenyatta’s light grey. Zenyatta’s bore proof of his life –scratches, scrapes, fragments of his metal chipped– Maximilien’s was pristine and polished, not a single mark disrupting it. His optical receptor slits were slanted in a way that made him appear judging, dismissive, and the bright red, accentuated by the dark metal and the black clothes, only reinforced this feeling.

“I have not had the pleasure of attending a showing here before, but I can say –it _has_ been a very… enlightening experience.” He paused for a moment, deliberate, then he added, “I am Tekhartha Zenyatta.”

Maximilien’s head snapped back, and it was obvious he was evaluating Zenyatta anew, forehead array spluttering in shock. He knew what the title meant, what it implied about _who_ Zenyatta was.

Before he could speak, however, a familiar voice attracted Zenyatta’s attention away from him and to the other side of the room. Akande walked in, surrounded by a small crowd of people. His attention was on them, so he did not look up, nor did he notice Zenyatta standing by the window, busy with his current company.

Zenyatta forgot about Maximilien for a moment, content to watch Akande from afar, though to Maximilien he simply seemed curious about the sudden noise.

“It seems,” Maximilien murmured almost to himself, “that this meeting is more unexpected than I thought.”

Maximilien’s optical receptors moved once more to stare at Zenyatta, this time measuring his appearance with his own idea of how one with such a title should be. Zenyatta did not move, though aware of his searching gaze, and wondered if the other omnic found him lacking or not.

The clothes he wore had nothing of his calling, or of his past –they were merely a gift for this night, and not indicative of who he was as an omnic, but someone like Maximilien, who had never met him, could not know that… nor about the way he held himself, with a familiarity that Maximilien would find fitting with his clothes.

Akande shifted, greeting another guest with a little nod, and Zenyatta’s attention gravitated back toward him.

For someone who knew not the kind of man Akande was, he would appear warm, even welcoming, as he started to chat with those around him, though the words did not reach as far as where Zenyatta was standing, but Zenyatta knew better. He had not spent as much time around him as he would have liked, yet he’d seen a side of him that made him view the man differently; the polite tilt of his head, the casual slouch, the little hand movements… Akande knew how to fool people, but the look in his eyes lacked the sharp, intense focus he could place on things that mattered.

He wondered, idly, how many of those around Akande now could guess his lack of interest.

“Akande Ogundimu,” Maximilien said at his side, tone carefully even, and Zenyatta shifted, reminded that he was with company. “He is quite renown around here, though he rarely comes to this theatre.”

Zenyatta shifted, now looking at Maximilien. “Do you know him?”

“I do. We go… a long way back.” His voice remained the same, not giving away anything, and Zenyatta regarded him for a moment, servos tense. “Likeminded individuals tend to gravitate towards one another.”

Zenyatta hesitated at that, wariness seeping into his circuits. There were many ways something like this could be taken, and in any other situation –with anyone else– he would have taken this at face value, a casual remark made to further shape the kind of person Maximilien had seemed to be during their short conversation… but Zenyatta knew something that Maximilien did not. He knew who Akande was, and that made the implications twist and shift to something else entirely.

Was Maximilien an ally of Talon? How much did he know, how far did that reach go?

“How amusing,” he replied, every inch of his body tense. “If you say this, it makes me wonder if our conversation was simply an attempt to indulge me. Should I take that as an admission of disinterest?”

The jab visibly startled Maximilien again, forehead array flashing in surprise before he started to chuckle –a high-pitched sound, metallic and dissonant. “You do me a disservice. I did say the company tonight was surprising, and I was not lying.”

“That can be left to interpretation –a surprise might not be wholly welcome by some.”

“And a pleasant occurrence for others.” Maximilien took a step closer, head tilted, and Zenyatta felt the weight of his stare on his chassis. He was not close enough to invade his personal space, but enough for it to be noticeable. “What brings someone like you to this place, Master Zenyatta?”

“The world is an admirable place, with many things that are worth seeing,” Zenyatta replied, amusement lacing his tone. “It would be sad if I were not to strive to see as much of it as I could. Knowledge comes with understanding.”

“And have you… seen… something worth seeing here, then?” Maximilien sounded just as amused, but he shifted to look at Zenyatta head on, as if asking him indirectly about himself.

“I did. More than I thought I would.” Zenyatta left it at that –Maximilien did not need to know what Zenyatta thought about the place, and the people, and the disappointing path his thoughts had taken before he’d decided to talk with him.

Just like Maximilien, Zenyatta himself could mean more than one thing, with his words.

His head tilted towards Akande again, but the motion was mistaken by Maximilien, and Zenyatta heard the sound of his optical receptors zooming.

“That is a man who does not like opposition.” Maximilien offered, and Zenyatta had to wonder –was it a suggestion, or a threat? “It is rather easy to see how he can attract attention –he is… good at that.”

“It is indeed. Yet one needs only to look to know all is not how it appears.”

Maximilien tilted his head, the shadows cast on his faceplate making him look like he was squinting. “Observant,” he murmured, “but is observing all you wish to do, Master Zenyatta?”

“As interesting as that is, you are the proof that I am not here to interact passively with those around me, Maximilien.”

Maximilien stiffened, but his chassis relaxed right away, and he chuckled once more. “That I can attest to.” A small pause, as they both returned their gaze to Akande, who’d yet to notice either of them. “It does make me wonder if you have been truly honest, Master Zenyatta. Is your presence here a mere whim?”

Zenyatta’s chuckle was low, but heartfelt, forehead array bursting in a series of flickers. “Oh, I would say there is something else in play here, but it is not what you might think, no. A whim, you say? Yet, not one of mine.”

At that moment, Akande looked up, eyes widening slightly as he noticed both Zenyatta and Maximilien standing there in a corner. Zenyatta did not make any obvious gesture, simply tilting his head a little to the side, but he could see, from the way Akande’s body shifted, that he had completely forgotten the people around him.

In fact, Akande made a dismissive gesture towards the closest woman and moved with purpose towards them; Zenyatta observed him quietly, noticing the way Akande’s eyes moved from Maximilien to him, then back to Maximilien, the edge of his lips tightening.

Stopping in front of them, Akande turned his attention to Maximilien fully.

“Akande. How nice of you to stop by.” Maximilien’s tone had taken a different inflection –it sounded like a purr, low and rumbling, with an edge of amusement. “I would not have expected you to enjoy something like this.”

“Sometimes, indulging is appreciated, is it not?” Akande’s eyes narrowed, but the smirk that Zenyatta knew so well was back on his face. “It seems you have quite enough free time to frequent this place as well –Monaco is not in the neighbourhood.”

“Once in a while, I appreciate art –after all,” Maximilien tilted his head to glance at Zenyatta, “a change in perspective can be rather… cathartic.”

Zenyatta couldn’t help the small chuckle –for once, a step ahead of Akande, and not just him.

Akande’s eyes moved to him then, sharp and searching. “Is that so,” he said, so low he was barely audible.

“This is–” Maximilien started, about to introduce them, but Akande was faster.

He shifted closer to Zenyatta, towering over him, and Zenyatta hid a little shiver as Akande reached out to grab his hand in his own, bringing it up to his lips only to turn it around at the last moment, lips pressing against his palm instead of his back.

“I am aware of who this is,” he said, lips stretching into a wider, appreciative smirk. “I wondered where you’d gone to, my monk. The show is about to start.”

“I had not noticed the break was already over,” Zenyatta replied easily, and turned to look at Maximilien, forehead array flashing. “I found the conversation quite attention-grabbing.”

Akande’s arm curled comfortably around Zenyatta’s hips, steady and unmoveable, and Zenyatta rushed to cull enough smaller, unused processes so he would not overheat at the sudden closeness, his body almost jumping at having Akande this close again.

“You see,” Akande continued, fingers rubbing a tiny spot on Zenyatta’s hip, where his jacket met the edge of his pants, “Zenyatta–” and it did not escape Maximilien how Akande was not using a honorific to refer to him, “is here with me.”

“… so I see.” Zenyatta did not miss the flash of interest in the way Maximilien tilted his head, or in his dimmer forehead array. He was shocked, but he could hide it well. “I must say it proves your words truer –perspective can change many things.”

“It was…” considering his words, Zenyatta offered the other omnic a small nod. “Interesting, talking with you, Maximilien.”

Akande did not speak, but the smug look he offered Maximilien as he led Zenyatta away spoke volumes –enough that Zenyatta did not dare to use his senses to read into his aura, aware that if he did so while being so close to him, he would drown.

Yet, as they walked away, Zenyatta could feel the grip on his side tightening, the smirk fading into a more neutral expression, though neither spoke until they were back to their box.

 


	3. Chapter 03

**Chapter 03**

Zenyatta’s body relaxed a little once he and Akande finally found their way back to their box, minute shifts as he allowed himself to slip out of the confident appearance he’d taken during his exploration of the theatre.

Away from prying ears and curious stares, he clasped his hands in front of himself.

Akande’s arm slipped away from around his frame, and Zenyatta’s sensors felt a jolt at the loss of their closeness, but he pushed the feeling down.

For a moment longer, neither of them spoke.

“I see you’ve met Maximilien,” Akande finally said. “Did he make an impression on you, my monk?”

“Something like that,” Zenyatta murmured in reply, optical receptors moving towards the stage, still dark. He waited for a few seconds in silence, then added, “He is a Talon member.”

“… that he is.” Akande did not move, but his voice had taken a steely edge.

“I had expected as much –he did not make a mystery of knowing you, though I think he would not have been as forthcoming if he’d known of my connection with you.”

“We have… a past,” Akande nodded, dismissively. “He has been on my side without wavering since the start. A hard-earned support.” The edge of steel in Akande’s voice was unexpected, but not surprising.

“I could see that. He does not seem fond of humans –though he acts the part.” Zenyatta turned slightly to him. “For one who looks down at those around him, he shows no effort in weaving his way among them.” Akande grunted, acknowledging his words, yet he still appeared almost mutinous.

For another long, quiet moment, neither of them spoke.

Akande’s eyes remained trained on Zenyatta’s faceplate while he looked outside –the air felt tense, but Zenyatta ignored it in favour of staring down at the darkness of the stage.

He knew Akande wanted something, though Zenyatta did not feel like such attitude was warranted, as he did not need to know everything Zenyatta did for himself, but if Maximilien was truly a talon accomplice, his reticence and focus could be understandable… somewhat.

“We talked,” he finally said, “about art.”

“Art.” Akande seemed surprised, and perhaps a touch disbelieving. “And that… was enough to make such striking, specific statement about him?”

“Yes.” Zenyatta linked his hands in front of him, the gesture more for his own benefit –it felt familiar, reassuring– than for anything else. “It was enough to understand a lot.”

Eyes narrowed, Akande did not move, but he seemed to want more than just that –an explanation, maybe. He wondered whether his words had annoyed him, but the thought was not enough to make him wish to retract them.

He had learned something while talking with Maximilien, and much to his surprise, more now from Akande. Maximilien –a wealthy, confident omnic– was part of Talon as he’d suspected, and _sided_ with Akande. It meant –there were factions, and Talon was no united front.

It meant Akande faced confrontation, that his actions were not shared by others. It meant something for _Overwatch_ , and though tonight was not meant to be about their organizations –

Zenyatta was not stupid. He would take whatever information he could.

“Is that all?” Akande’s voice shook Zenyatta from his train of thoughts, and he glanced at him, forehead array dimming as he extended his senses, opening himself up only to feel a whiff of discord from Akande.

“He certainly knows the steps of his dance.” Zenyatta added, testing, and felt the discord thicken. “That is something you both share.”

The discord swirled around Akande, tinged with a mix of surprise and confusion, and Zenyatta hid the twinge of amusement deep within himself. It was true that Akande and Maximilien were similar, in a way –both build their persona with the same fierce attitude, spinning around others to fool them and confuse them, using them to their own gain… yet, similar methods had a different drive. Maximilien wished for power for himself, and his distaste for humans was noticeable… Akande’s drive made him strive for a change so powerful to uproot even the strongest defenses, until nothing but chaos remained, to remake the world from its ashes, anew and _different_.

“You have attempted more than once to… initiate me to your world, Akande.” Zenyatta exhaled a breath he did not need, and turned to face him, meeting his eyes with a steady gaze. “You wish to make me part of it, to spin me around until I belong… yet, at the same time, you know it is but a mask. I can _dress_ the part,” he absently pointed at his expensive clothes, “and act as if I do… yet that is not my place, and you know it.”

“It could be,” Akande murmured, the rumble of his voice sending a shiver down Zenyatta’s back. “You know the kind of influence you could have on people –shift their allegiances, make them see the truth by your words alone, by your eloquence, and your presence. Is that not what Overwatch has you do, when they send you to try and win… support… for their little, unlawful organization?”

A small part of Zenyatta wanted to refute this –yet he knew the truth of Akande’s words.

Winston did not know yet the extent of what Zenyatta could do –but he’d seen a spark of it, in the way he and Jesse interacted, in the way they clicked, in the way Zenyatta seemed to find his way into people’s hearts, in the way he could become anything that was needed of him, in the way he could spin words and gain Overwatch a much needed supporter…

Zenyatta had seen how Akande could do the same, in a more insidious, tempting way.

 “People are easy to fool. Attracted by fame, by a name, by greed… they allow others to dictate their decisions, to lead them. People who content themselves with their appearances, yet fail to have their own thoughts, grateful to have someone else think for them. It makes them an easy prey of anyone who can spin strong words, and they will listen, and change allegiance if they perceive it will allow them to keep their comfortable status quo.” Akande was not smiling, there was a scathing tone in his voice, derision. “I offer them what they think they want. In the end, they will still face the same result –they will still have to deal with the choices they made.”

“That makes us different.” Zenyatta shook his head. “I do not force others upon the path I am walking –I offer them the tools to find their own path, and hope it brings them to a good end. I do not believe that change has to come like a maelstrom, Akande.”

Similar methods, similar outcomes –different sides, different motives.

In the end, what Zenyatta truly wanted was freedom –for omnics to decide how to live their lives without constraints, for them to be seen as equals, for them to have rights… for people to grow more compassionate and understanding.

He wanted change –but not the destruction of all society to gain that.

Akande’s idea of freedom was one that allowed very little afterthought.

Zenyatta thought about the omnics at James Hartstrom’s villa, caged and lost within layers of codes and primary directives, barely able to be, let alone _exist_.

So many minds to change, so many battles to fight –and now he was alone on this path, his brother dead and gone. At times, Zenyatta felt weary, yet never defeated. It was more than an obligation… it was a call to him, when so many were hurting, so many were dejected and lost.

There would always be places full of people blinded to the truth –but he had to see them with his own optical receptors, if only to understand and be reminded that for every person he could not reach, there would be even more that he _could_.

One step towards understanding was yet one more step towards change.

“Hmmm…” Zenyatta’s mind slowed at the discord he could feel as Akande moved closer in slow, steady steps; he watched as Akande caressed his faceplate with one hand, the other moving to his hip, tugging him closer until they were pressed flush together in the middle of the box, and looking up, Zenyatta found that Akande’s expression had softened. “I have upset you.”

Zenyatta’s forehead array blinked, and then he realised that part of the discord swirling around them was his own.

“No, you did not upset me,” Zenyatta replied. He remembered Akande’s words, and they felt so distant now, yet still clear in his memories –how this… their relationship… would have nothing to do with Talon, or Overwatch. Wishful thinking, but Zenyatta knew that they were both too tied to their respective paths to truly separate themselves from that.

If… if he _wanted_ this –and he _did_ , for how shocking it always felt to admit it– he knew he would have to confront this reality. Akande was an enemy, and though he had the hope he could, if not stop him, at least be able to stand against him, Akande was also his…

“You think too much again.” The hand on his chin tightened, tilting Zenyatta’s head until he met Akande’s eyes once more. “It is true our allegiances are opposites, but this…” he leaned closer, and closer still, until his mouth was almost touching his mouth piece, “is ours. Not Talon’s. Not Overwatch’s. We can _choose_ to have this.”

“How?” Zenyatta’s voice wavered. “We cannot separate this from what we do. Even here, I consider how I can help Overwatch. Even here, you make connections. And here we are, challenging one another on that premise. I told you… we cannot separate our sides in this conflict from… this.”

“But we are both back _here_ , now.” Akande tilted his chin to indicate the box around them, and Zenyatta followed his stare. “Do you still wish to stay with me, and finish this… date?”

“Yes.” The answer stumbled out without hesitation, but once it was out, Zenyatta knew he meant it.

“Do you still want this?”

“ _Yes_.” Even quieter, quicker than before. Again, the truth.

“Then, you think too much.” Akande’s lips stretched in a smile –gentler than his usual smirks, and Zenyatta’s core stuttered. “Perhaps, I should kiss your worries away.”

Yet he waited –for Zenyatta to give him his consent, and Zenyatta exhaled an artificial breath, servos relaxing. Another worry for another day, but with Akande here, he knew to focus on the immediate.

“Perhaps,” he answered, and tilted his head to him in an invitation.

His lips pressed against the edge of his mouth piece, lingering there to feel the cool metal, then they continued to kiss along Zenyatta’s chin, moving lower to seek the sensors hidden just below, and Zenyatta gasped and shook at the action yet he tilted his head to help him, omnic energy crackling like static across his mouth piece, burning its way to Akande’s lips in a bruising kiss.

He grabbed onto his shoulders as Akande tilted him back, dipping him low enough that Zenyatta felt his balance shift, yet he knew Akande would not drop him –and then he got lost in the kiss, in feeling Akande so close to him, his insistent kisses and nibbles chasing away all his thoughts.

The hand on his chin moved down, slowly, tracing a path from his shoulder to his back, then lower, and Zenyatta jolted into the kiss when he felt the hand reach lower, and his body answered instantly, burning up and aching as familiar fingers traced the curve of his ass, cupping it and slipping even lower, massaging a spot where the back of his thigh met with his ass, sensors alight with the insistent pressure against them.

The fingers continued to rub even as Akande kissed him, and his omnic energy faltered at the feeling, his valve aching behind his modesty panel as the fingers teased him without moving from that spot.

Shivers ran down his back as the tension he’d felt for the entire night returned at once, and he felt his processors respond to it, valve growing plump as new processes started up and his sensors lit up with sensation.

“Akande–” he’d meant to say something, but he felt dizzy, and he tugged on the man’s shirt as Akande took a step forwards, aiming to press Zenyatta against a wall, one of his legs sliding between Zenyatta’s parted thighs, curling under him, sliding higher–

He could not think anymore, not now that he had Akande where he’d wanted him all night, hot and pushy and hard against him, and Zenyatta’s core stuttered, fans spinning fast, when Akande’s fingers slipped a little more between his legs from behind, teasing the edge of his modesty panel above his pants. Between those wandering fingers and his knee, Zenyatta found it hard to finish his train of thoughts.

“Yes?” Akande breathed against his neck, and Zenyatta’s optical receptors unfocused and threatened to go offline, the input and the heat making him overheat.

He’d wanted –he’d _hoped_ – that Akande would do this, yet he’d feared it, feared how easily it was to let him, how all he could think was to remove Akande’s pants and grab his cock in his hand to stroke it, welcome it inside him…

Zenyatta had once said he was no adventurous type, and here he was, getting fondled as Akande pushed him back, until he felt the tingle of the wall behind him, anticipation and thrill making him part his legs.

“I–”

Zenyatta’s forehead array burned, and his hands shook as they tugged on Akande’s shirt, but then, a sudden light flashed at his side, and startled him enough that he almost slipped out of Akande’s grip, freezing in place as the light of the stage lit back up.

He’d forgotten about the play, and with that thought came another –could the actors see him from the only open wall in his box?

It was not possible, considering the position of the box, and yet the thought was as much dreadful as it was exciting, the rush of conflicting emotions so strong Zenyatta wheezed.

“S… stop.” His synth slurred the word, but Akande immediately pushed back, panting hard as he stared at him.

“As you say,” Akande murmured, but there was something in the way his lips curled up, his eyes half-mast, that suggested to Zenyatta that Akande did not mind the interruption –he had every intention to continue later.

For a moment, Akande did not move, keeping him against the wall, as they both winded down. Zenyatta could not say if Akande was hard, but he did not need that proof; the swollen lips, the trail of sweat down his brow, the way he breathed harshly… all of that was enough to know he was as affected as Zenyatta himself was, with his aching valve, already burning at the lack of friction, and his sensors overstimulated and primed for more. Finally, Akande took a step back, and Zenyatta stumbled a little when his hands, against his orders, tried to stop him from moving too far.

Akande’s eyes flashed at that, dark and narrowed, and Zenyatta forced himself to calm down and let him go, arms falling at his sides, and looked towards the stage, where many of the actors were already resuming their positions to continue.

He knew that if he looked at Akande again, he would tug him close, and the idea had his body thrumming, servos tingling with the strong, alluring itch.

Instead Zenyatta flopped back to his seat, self-conscious and hyperaware of Akande’s eyes on him.

“We should… focus on the play,” he managed to say, almost too quiet to be heard.

Akande made a soft, curious sound. “Yes,” he agreed. “We should.”

***

The play ended far too soon.

It was barely midnight when the crew bowed and the crowd, standing up in the seats below the boxes, started to clap enthusiastically, some more than others, appreciating the show and wanting to make sure the actors knew.

Zenyatta clapped as well, but for the last part of the show, his mind had been unfocused, only able to follow the story due to his sheer will.

Akande had not touched him –his hands had remained on his lap– but his eyes had followed him the entire time, dividing his attention neatly between him and the stage, and though he politely clapped, even now his eyes never strayed from Zenyatta.

The weight of that stare –of the emotion that was behind it– was almost too much.

Zenyatta had hoped his body would calm down if he directed his attention elsewhere, but it ended up being wishful thinking, for he still ached, dreading yet wishing for Akande to reach for him again, knowing that if he did, Zenyatta would fall and return the touch, and this knowledge, the certainty that he would not be able to stop himself, was… concerning.

He could not control this desire, and if he had to be honest with himself, Zenyatta was rattled by its intensity.

He wanted Akande –wanted his hands, and lips, and body, and he wanted him close, and the idea that he would have to return to Overwatch now, and spend weeks missing him, was even worse.

“I have to admit,” Akande murmured, sounding pleased, “the show truly deserved the positive reviews it received.”

“… indeed.” Zenyatta’s fans whirred as he studiously ignored Akande to concentrate on the actors, still receiving their well-deserved applause. “I must thank you for this opportunity.”

He thought Akande would laugh at that, or offer him another chance, yet Akande simply hummed, and shook his head slightly. “We should return.”

The words jolted Zenyatta from his haze and he turned to look at him. “Return…?”

“Would I be presumptuous, if I assumed you would like to… join me in my suite, Zenyatta?” the way his eyes narrowed as Akande stood up, the way he moved to the back of Zenyatta’s seat, out of sight for a moment, one hand caressing the back of his neck– “we do not have to… part ways so early.”

Zenyatta’s body responded to this offer even before he could wrap his mind around it –a delicious, anticipating throb that burned its way down his back, like a prelude of what would follow.

His processes slowed down, and Zenyatta knew –if he agreed, if he followed Akande back to his suite, he knew what would happen. He would let this maelstrom take him down, he would tumble with Akande, forgetting himself, forgetting everything except them, reminded of their first time together, of the insistent, demanding touches and how he’d trembled underneath him, giving until he’d been drained of all energy, until Akande had milked orgasm after orgasm from him, and even then, he’d want more.

There was no balance, in this –Akande was in control, stable and confident while Zenyatta ached for him, shaking and wanting, and…

“I–” Zenyatta’s synth crackled under pressure.

He could –he wanted to– say yes, he wanted to leave the theatre and drag Akande on a bed, he wanted to kiss him and explore his body, wanted to see him come undone, wanted to see him to lose this confidence until he arched up underneath Zenyatta, if only to let him feel a fraction of what Zenyatta felt now, but…

His core felt too full, something bubbling up to the surface the more he thought about it.

Zenyatta was losing himself already, and it was too much.

If Akande knew how easily he could play with him, if only he knew how easily he could make Zenyatta tick –did he know already?– then… then…

Slowly, Zenyatta stood. He pushed his sensors’ sensitivity down until the throbbing under his modesty panel went down to a dull twitch, he pushed his erratic thoughts together, drawing from his inner calm until he had a semblance of control, and turned to look at Akande, appearing relaxed and at ease.

“This time, I have to refuse.” His tone was even, and he was grateful it was not shaking. “I have my… cover job tomorrow morning, as you already know.”

He leaned forwards, one hand curling around Akande’s tie, and tugged him down, appreciating the flash of surprise before he kissed him, omnic energy sparkling against his lips, a mere second before he let him go.

He could see Akande’s face go slack –first in disappointment, then understanding, then what seemed like determination, but he simply nodded. “I will respect that, but I hope I am allowed one more kiss.”

Zenyatta did not need to think twice, already pushing against him, mouth piece tilted up in an offering as omnic energy sparkled up, and Akande met him halfway, for a moment gentler as he kissed him, one hand under his chin to keep him close.

It was his choice to say no –and a choice he shouldn’t regret making, yet as Akande led him out of the box and down the theatre corridor, Zenyatta’s hand on his arm, he found himself feeling a complex mix of anticipation and disappointment at himself.

For a moment surrounded by people leaving the theatre, Zenyatta and Akande did not speak, but Zenyatta’s hand tightened around his arm, and he felt Akande straighten his back a little more as they left the crowded area.

The car was waiting for them in front of the theatre, and Akande kept the door open for him before sliding at his side and signalling the driver to go.

Zenyatta could not help but feel awkward –Akande did not seem bothered by Zenyatta’s refusal, yet he had the sudden need to excuse his decision, excuse his selfish desire to put distance between them else he burn down due to his own desire, but he had no words to express that, or examine the complex mix of disappointment and contentment he still felt.

Just being by Akande was enough to make Zenyatta feel happy, yet he wanted _more_.

As he observed him in the silence of the car, Zenyatta could feel Akande was not relaxed, and rather than look at him, he kept his eyes trained outside of the window, watching the lights of the city and the other cars slide by.

“I had… fun, tonight.”

Akande blinked slowly, and turned to look at him. For a second, his face was blank, unreadable, then his shoulders relaxed minutely, and his expression softened.

“That pleases me, but… it is not quite the result I’d hoped for.”

The car steered back towards Akande’s hotel, and Zenyatta almost jolted at that, a knot forming inside his core before he realised he’d left his original clothes there, and he could not very well return to his room dressed with Akande’s suit.

At the same time, he could not help but wonder what Akande meant –he’d thought that just… being together, having fun, was enough. Had he truly wanted for the night to finish…

“Are you displeased with tonight, Akande?”

“No.” The answer came so quickly Zenyatta was almost surprised. “But it was not… adequate.”

Zenyatta curled his hands on his lap. “Why is that?” he knew he was pushing, but the thought that Akande would be moody because he’d been told no seemed strange. The idea was unsettling.

Shoulders tense again, Akande looked away for a moment, and Zenyatta’s senses opened to understand more, only to get hit by a wave of discord –displeasure, a tiny fraction of anger, but not directed at Zenyatta himself, and…

“I realised that this date did not quite go the way I had hoped.” Akande finally murmured, sounding frustrated. “I promised I would make your night worthwhile, yet it was simply… acceptable. Your presence by my side is something I will never tire of, but I had meant for our dates to be… memorable.”

Zenyatta felt embarrassment curl inside his chest at the thought that Akande could consider the night unsatisfying for that reason, when he had instead spent most of it trying not to fall into his arms.

He remembered Akande’s words –he’d wished to take him out on a date, he’d promised they would get to know each other, but in the heat of the moment, missing Akande’s presence, missing their closeness, Zenyatta himself had forgotten about it.

Akande, apparently, had not.

Slowly, he reached out to place one hand on Akande’s knee, making sure that Akande was looking at him before speaking up. There was warmth in his chest that felt almost too tight, like someone had screwed his servos too much and wound them up so hard he could barely move.

“Not every date has to be the most memorable one, Akande. I have enjoyed this –even with your… colleague’s appearance, even with our conversation turning to our allegiances… I trusted it would be a nice night, and it was.” He paused, seconds ticking by, “Yet, if you truly feel so disgruntled, perhaps next time you will have to work… _harder_.”

The surprise on Akande’s face at Zenyatta’s words was enough –it was not always he could make a man like Akande appear so out of his depth, and he enjoyed seeing him like this, almost as if for a moment, Zenyatta had the upper hand.

An arm sneaked its way around his hips, tugging him closer, then tugged him higher, and Zenyatta fumbled as he was dragged on Akande’s lap, suddenly feeling hot all over again by this simple move.

He could feel Akande’s muscles under his legs, he could feel how hot his body was, and how strong, and Zenyatta’s brain shorted for a moment at the position, the heat that had lessened after their quiet talk back with vengeance.

“I will make sure to do a better job,” the words were hot against his mouth piece, and Zenyatta, incredulous, was left speechless. If only Akande knew– “as to not leave you wanting, my monk.”

The promise would have been enough to steal Zenyatta’s breath if he had any, but as it was, it made his core ache, and he leaned down, not trusting himself to speak, to kiss Akande again, hands splayed across his chest.

***

The hotel room was empty when he entered, closing the door behind his back, the lights off, and Zenyatta’s optical receptors noticed the note he’d hastily written still on the table, but not in the same position.

So, Jesse had passed by and had read his message, and… as Zenyatta walked to the table, receptors zooming in the dim lights, he noticed a message scribbled underneath his own.

_‘Still on that movie marathon, feel free to join when you come back!’_

It was not signed, but it did not need to be.

Zenyatta hesitated, one hand on the table. He felt… offset.

After a heated moment in the car, Akande had allowed Zenyatta to change back to his clothes without trying anything, respecting Zenyatta’s no even when Zenyatta himself had hesitated, almost giving in at the last moment, and then he’d led him back down to the car.

Things were awkward no more, which was a relief –Zenyatta had not meant for the night to end in such a discordant note, but he’d barely been able to end it standing on his own two feet, and the jolts of heat he still felt were proof enough.

Even in the car, his thoughts had circled over the hand Akande had kept on his thigh, wanting for it to move to his modesty panel, unable to think of anything else but those big, warm fingers touching him, coaxing him to moan, and even in the cool air of the night, Zenyatta still felt overheated and aching.

If only–

He had wanted him. He still wanted him, and his body would not calm down, even if Akande was gone, even if he was alone, and the thought was almost like torture.

He knew he’d made the right choice, in stopping Akande before they could continue, but that did not mean he could not feel the regret thrumming inside him as he sat on the bed. Alone in the room, he felt like the space around him was too wide, too quiet, no sounds except that of his fans spinning and the noise of his own thoughts as they continued to bring back to the forefront of his processes Akande’s face as he’d pressed him into the wall.

The room was empty. He was alone, and aching at the reminder of Akande’s touches, and he…

“Hnnn-”

He dragged one hand down his front, finding nothing to stop him as he pushed it inside his pants, his modesty panel sliding away without noise, and Zenyatta jolted in embarrassment as he felt himself leak, slick staining the inside of his pants right away.

He’d been keyed up for so long, that even a brief, feather-like caress with the pads of his fingers sent a jolt of pleasure through him, and he gasped again, the sound loud in the quiet room.

Akande’s touch would not be sweet, or gentle –he would be demanding, pushing, taking what he wanted from Zenyatta’s pliant body and he would have let him, arching up into him as Akande fingered him, and he didn’t even need a stretch of imagination to know how that would feel… Akande had fucked him with his fingers until Zenyatta had begged and screamed for him, and this would only be a reprise, Akande staking his claim on him, stretching those big, strong fingers inside him until he lost all coherency–

“Ah–”

Zenyatta’s synth crackled, louder than before, and he hastily cut off the sound, tugging at the wire under his chin with a shaky hand until it unplugged, silencing himself.

His valve burned, throbbing with need, and all he could think about was Akande pinning him down as he pushed one finger inside himself, then a second, the movements so eased by the lubrication he found no resistance.

It felt good, too good to stop, and he let himself go to the pleasure, arching up against the mattress.

No sounds left his synth as he continued to finger himself, pushing his legs apart and curling up on himself, twitching as he tried to reach deeper inside himself, slippery and wet, but two fingers were not enough, he needed…

With his pants so tight, he could barely move the fingers inside him but he made do, quick, rapid thrusts as he arched into it, mind dizzy and optical receptors blurry in pleasure.

He needed Akande’s fingers, his cock, his mouth on him, mouthing praise and coaxing him on, his body on top of him to pin him down, until he could see nothing but Akande, and Zenyatta could fool himself that nothing else mattered.

With a soundless gasp, Zenyatta pushed a third finger inside, spreading them apart, dragging the pads of his fingers against his walls over and over again, thinking about lips licking him, thinking about bigger fingers inside him, and Akande, the pleasure blurring as he continued to arch into the touch, hard and unforgiving, until his thumb dragged meanly against his nub and his forehead array short-circuited as he climaxed hard, slick gushing past his fingers, valve twitching and clenching around them.

System locked by pleasure, processes fizzling out of service, Zenyatta trembled and shook through his orgasm and slumped down on the mattress, shaking.

Drained and spent, Zenyatta stared, unseeing, at the wall on the side of the bed for what felt like forever, fingers still inside his twitching valve, filling him up.

It took him a while to gather the strength to remove them, resisting the urge to plunge them back in to prolong the pleasure once he felt the emptiness they’d left behind, his systems lazy and languid as they recalibrated, feeling light and smoother with his overload, but his body heavy and lethargic, sensors buzzing, so he remained where he was, not wishing to move yet.

Zenyatta was no stranger to self-pleasure, and indulged in it at times, but he’d rarely considered someone else starring in his imagination, and now…

He shook himself, unwilling to ruin his afterglow by allowing those discordant thoughts to take root within him again. He had spent the entire date high-strung, hopeful yet not, and afterwards he was still without a solid answer, worried about his reactions to Akande, worried about everything, still unsure about whether he should allow this to continue, but…

He still wanted to, and so far, it had not affected his job, or his position in the Overwatch team.

He waited a little longer, optical receptors shifting to the window of the hotel room, narrow and small and returning a much different view from the one he’d seen through the much larger ones at the theatre.

Beige, grey and intrusive buildings that showed him nothing, except a flashing LED banner and a glimpse of a few more buildings in the distance, and a small square of dark sky.

Seconds ticked by, and Zenyatta’s core hummed in the silence, unmoving. With no one around, he felt no pressure to keep up an appearance, and he forced the barriers around his mind to lower, confronting the discord swelling just underneath the surface.

His relationship with Akande was affecting him, in ways he had not expected.

He wanted the man, his company, his touches, his attention –yet he knew it came with a price.

Akande’s presence meant accepting he belonged with Talon, something Zenyatta had acknowledged, but he had deluded himself with Akande’s promises that it would not interfere with their relationship… when even on their first date Zenyatta had been unable to truly separate the two.

It also made him feel weak, in a way –like his own emotions, usually under control, were caught in a storm, like there was a whirlwind within him that he could not escape, and at its centre was Akande.

The kind of desire he felt was so strong, overwhelming, that it…

Zenyatta’s thoughts halted, fragmented, but he made himself finish the thought nonetheless, displeased at himself.

… so strong it _scared_ him.

This vertigo, this rollercoaster, the feelings that made him feel electrified and alive… he could not control them, or what they did to him.

Saying no to Akande had been an attempt to show himself he could still resist, that Akande did not have a hold on him, that his own emotions, his _lust_ , did not control him… but then they would date again, and Zenyatta had openly teased Akande to do his best, goading him on…

Another shudder ran through his frame at the thought, and he froze as he recognised the emotion he felt for what it was –he was excited. There was a thrill of anticipation there, as for all his confusion and uncertainty, the thought that Akande wanted him was still at the forefront of his thoughts.

The fear he felt about his own lapse of control would not be enough to stop him from wanting to see Akande again.

It took Zenyatta a few more minutes before he uncurled and stood up, slick dripping down his thighs inside his pants, and he had to rush to the bathroom to clean himself and his clothes, ashamed to think that he could have ruined them. He had his own pants to change into, but he hoped his other clothes would dry before morning came.

A stray thought made him pause on his way back to his bed as he looked at the note Jesse had scribbled for him. He’d meant to rest, as he still had work the next morning, but…

He’d been invited to join Jesse and Lena, and he still had a little bit of night left to enjoy before he would have to truly power down and rest for his cover job, and… part of him felt it would do him no good to be alone. Company always seemed to strengthen him, and…

Maybe, he could wind down, and not continue to think about the night at the theatre, and Akande.

The idea of spending time with his friends made his core lighter, and he nodded to himself, his mind now set.

The walk to Lena’s room was quiet, Zenyatta’s footsteps echoing in the silence, and a soft, polite knock had Lena open the door, her expression brightening up as she saw him there. “Zen! You came back!”

“Am I still welcome? I know it’s rather late, but…”

“Of course you are! We were just about to switch to another movie!”

Jesse’s voice, muffled from inside the room, “were we?” had Lena turn around swiftly, throwing one of her slippers in his direction, followed by Jesse chuckling. “Of course we were! Not like we can enjoy a movie by watching it when it’s halfway through, right?” Then, a little louder, “Get in here, Zen!”

“ _Good_.” She mock glared at him before she moved out of the way, letting Zenyatta inside. “Heard the cowboy? There’s always room for you, Zen. C’mon in.”

Zenyatta offered her a small forehead array smile, LED flickering brightly, and as he moved to join Jesse on the bed, Lena rushing to get there before him and patting the space between them, Zenyatta felt a fraction of the Discord he still held within his core vanish into nothing.

He carefully sat down between them, feeling Lena and Jesse shift closer until he was comfortably squeezed by their bodies, and he relaxed instantly, the physical closeness pleasant to his circuits.

“What movie is it?” he asked, glancing from one to the other as Lena moved her popcorn bag on his lap.

“Oh, I think you’ll like it –it’s got Thespion 2.0~” Lena’s eyes glinted, her grin wide and teasing. “That omnic’s got those muscles you like, huh? Huh?”

The laughter she startled out of him was as unexpected as her words were, and Zenyatta leaned on Jesse’s side, shoulders shaking in mirth.

“Indeed,” he admitted, his tone light and amused. “You have me figured out, Lena.”

With a wink, Lena pressed play on the remote, and Zenyatta hummed as the lights of the room dimmed and the holovision in front of them started the opening credits.

This, he thought, for the moment at ease and at peace, felt like home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with this, another part of this arc is done.
> 
> I am distinctly aware some of you were expecting sum hot sex but their relationship is at the awkward state, and Zenyatta's dealing with his own feelings about it (if it wasn't clear and im sorry about that, he's rattled by the strength of his interest, and since before his previous crushes had been somewhat mild, and his relationships few, he's unsettled at how deeply into akande he is, and he's never been good at analyzing this sort of thing for himself)
> 
> (akande's equally awkward and i hope i managed to get this through without giving away too much but basically they're both idiots and they'll have to talk soon)
> 
> next part is their second date, actual smut, some talking, and more fun ~~before the plot strikes.~~


End file.
